I'll Drink Your Deadly Poison
by hotanuri
Summary: In an alternate universe, Hogwarts Castle is home to a famous opera troupe and a phantom that dwells deep in the dungeons...WARNING: SLASH!
1. Chapter 1

**_I'll Drink Your Deadly Poison_**

**_Chapter 1_**

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or Phantom of the Opera. If I did, you would know my name and I wouldn't be in debt. I write for enjoyment and to see what kind of reaction I get from readers: so I LOVE reviews._

_ATTENTION: This chapter has been updated on January 24th, 2006, so there are some extended and additional scenes that previous readers have not read yet. So you might want to reread it before reading the following chapters._

* * *

The smell of alcohol was a lingering characteristic of the backstage. No matter how much the cleaning ladies scrubbed the floors in the mornings, despite the attempt of lighting perfumed candles around the doors to hide the scent from the night's guests, Harry could always detect it. But he had become accustomed to it, just like he had to the stench of human sweat after long days of endless practice, or the unmistakable scent of sex after a night of celebration. He didn't mind it like he had when he first came to the old castle, when he was merely a child. He never admitted to anyone that when he first saw the high towers in the dark of the night, he felt an overpowering sensation that frightened him a little. But then, wouldn't any child who had just watched their parents die be scared by something strange to them?

"Harry, pay attention!" a soft voice whispered at him. Harry was pulled out of his memory to see a familiar pair of blue eyes watching him from beneath a tangle of brown curls. "You don't want to miss the cue," she added, before turning her face towards the stage.

Behind him he could hear the rest of the group gathering, their feet shuffling lightly, a sign that they were getting into place. Harry turned towards the girl who spoke to him, the same girl that had befriended him his first night in the castle. It was she who had explained to him what an opera house was, for his parents had not been what you would call, 'socially elite,' during his childhood. His mother had died shortly after he was born, and his father a few years later. Harry had heard many say that it was a broken heart that killed him, for his father loved his wife dearly. He had been told the only reason his father survived those few years was because of him, which in a way made Harry feel both relieved yet saddened.

"Harry, concentrate!" came a harsher whisper this time.

Harry blinked, waking up from his dream world, which he was finding himself in more often. As he positioned himself behind her, listening to the music and counting off until their cue, he thought about his haunting dreams. They seemed to be happening quite frequently now, and they were always the same.

"Harry!"

"Shush, Hermione, or you'll make me loose count," Harry whispered back, looking back towards the stage. But he realized that she wasn't whispering for him to focus. The music had suddenly stopped, and Harry could see that the people on stage were looking rather flustered.

One in particular was the acclaimed star of this old opera house, Pansy Parkinson. She was a charming woman, no doubt, but with a personality that made a rotten egg look appetizing. Although there were a handful of girls in the theatre that were lovelier than Pansy, she was the only one with the voice talent. Right now she looked like a disproportionate pumpkin, decorated in a costume of an orangish color. Harry wondered how she felt wearing it, since the color looked putrid against her skin tone. Of course, being the prima dona she was, everyone fussed over Miss Parkinson, assuring her that she made the dress look lovely. But what attracted attention the most was the headdress, which she periodically would push back up when it fell forward over her face. Each time she would stop singing to yell at her seamstresses to fix it after rehearsal.

"How am I supposed to perform if my face cannot be seen?" Pansy squawked, drawing everyone's attention as usual. "And who keeps stepping on my dress?" she continued, glaring at all who were close to her. Her gaze stopped as her pale eyes fell upon her costar, Peter Pettigrew. The man was quite weathered after long years of performance, and yet his voice was still holding strong. If only the same could be said about his belts and buttons: a lifetime of rich feasts had paid its toll on the old tenor.

"How am I supposed to work like this if he keeps coming in late on his entrances?" Pansy asked, waving her hands at Pettigrew. "You think he would have it now, but no!" She walked over to him, her dress dragging behind her noisily. "One more time, and I shall scream!" she threatened, wagging her finger at his pointed nose.

"Yes, I-I understand," he stuttered in reply, his hands shaking violently in fear of the orange menace in front of him.

"Bloody hell," someone sighed behind Harry. He turned to look behind him at his fellow dancing troupe. The voice belonged to another one of his friends in the ballet dormitories, Ron Weasley. He, like Harry, had joined the opera house at a young age, along with his siblings. Ron's parents had worked in the old castle for many years, and each of their children had been hired for their talents.

"How come if we make a mistake we get scolded, but she can hold up dress rehearsal and everyone fawns over her?" he whispered, picking at his costume. Harry thought to himself how similar to a candle Ron appeared in his orange tunic and gold body paint. Even the matching turban on his head couldn't hide the flaming red hair that was the Weasley family's trademark.

"Because she's irreplaceable," Hermione replied, frowning at him. "Now, hush!"

"Oh, they can't hear us over her ranting," Ron retorted, shifting his weight onto one leg. "She doesn't even know we exist until we block her view or step on her skirt. It's not our fault if she's not doing what she's supposed to. But who gets blamed?"

"Us," answered the girl who was paired with him for the ballet number. If she hadn't spoken, Harry might've not realized she'd been standing there. She was always off in another place it seemed, yet leaving her body behind. It was a shame, since she was rather pretty in her own way.

Ron groaned when she spoke. "Why do I have to be paired with Luna?" he asked, looking at Hermione.

"Because McGonagall doesn't trust you to touch her daughter more than you already have," Harry replied, smirking at his friend.

Hermione pinched his arm in reply, looking rather red in the cheeks. "Hush up, or she'll hear you!"

"He's just jealous, Hermione," Ron said, crossing his arms.

Before anyone could say anything further, a commotion started on the stage that drew everyone's attention backstage.

"I knew it!" they heard Pansy Parkinson squeal.

Since Harry and Hermione were the first pair waiting to enter the stage, they had the best view of what was going on, other than the men on the scaffoldings above. Among the crew on stage, Harry noticed that their manager, Cornelius Fudge, was there, looking rather out of place with the ancient Rome background. His bowler hat was in his hand and he was talking rather excitedly.

"I would like to introduce you all to the new managers of the Hogwarts Opera," he said, extending his arm out. A path was cleared and two men, one taller than the other, approached the gathering, looking rather sharp in new suits and hats. "This is Sirius Black," Fudge said, pointing to the taller of the two. Black smiled charmingly, lifting his hat to reveal his raven hair as he bowed. Harry could hear several sighs of excitement behind him. "And Remus Lupin," Fudge continued. The second man was just as handsome as the first, which made the girls start to whisper.

"Much better than old Fudge!"

"They must be rich!"

Pansy Parkinson made a loud noise with her throat, clearly signaling for an introduction.

Fudge nodded nervously, looking at her. "I would like to introduce Pansy Parkinson, our leading soprano for the past four seasons."

Pansy smiled, stepping forward and holding out her hand. Lupin looked at it like it was a fly on his plate, but she didn't notice since Black had took her small hand and kissed it. "A pleasure," he said, drawing a giggle from the woman.

"And Madame McGonagall," Fudge continued. A tall woman stepped forward, her graying hair pulled back tightly in a bun. She tucked the walking stick she always carried under her arm and held her hand out in a more protocol sort of manner, and Black kissed it also.

"McGonagall," Lupin spoke, "I've heard you have quite the troupe this season. I'm looking forward to the ballet numbers."

"Thank you, sir," she replied.

"Now, where is our newest patron?" Black interrupted, looking around. "Ah, there he is!"

Harry could hear the girls gasp in awe as a young man walked onto stage, his blonde hair almost like gold underneath the lights that shone from above. His face was noble, and a strong-willed air seemed to surround him.

"Oh no," Harry groaned, turning his face away.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, looking up at him.

"It's Draco," he replied.

But before he could continue, Lupin spoke. "We would like to introduce Count Malfoy, a find indeed," he said, the last part sounding like a statement of relief.

Pansy took this moment to step in, holding her hand out once again. She smiled at the count, waiting for his lips to touch her hand. He did it, but rather reluctantly it seemed.

"How wonderful to have a fresh, handsome face around here," Pansy swooned, attempting to be as charming as possible. It was clear she was flirting with the count, and it was even clearer that he didn't want her flattery.

"It is nice meeting you all, but I have other business to attend to. I shall be here tonight for the opening, so until then." He bowed and turned, leaving as quickly as he had arrived.

"How do you know him, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"We met when we were children. He used to tease me constantly whenever we saw each other. But that was before I came to live here. I never dreamed I'd see him again."

They all were hushed by the sudden tapping of the conductor's baton on his podium. The gray haired man looked up from the orchestra pit, looking rather irritated. "Might we continue with our rehearsal, good sirs?"

"Ah, yes," Black said, stepping back. "Madame, would you mind showing us the rest of the theatre?" he asked McGonagall.

"Only if you do not get in the way," she replied sternly, stepping towards Harry and the others. The managers followed closely, looking around and smiling at everyone they passed. Black seemed quite interested in the female dancers, which didn't surprise Harry the least bit.

The music started again, and Harry stepped out onto the stage. Years of training and performances had made him into an excellent dancer, which was why he had been chosen as one of the lead performers. But he knew that Black and Lupin wouldn't care about that. They had their eyes on Hermione as Harry lifted her into the air and placed her gracefully back down again.

"Who is that lovely vixen?" Harry could hear Black ask.

"She is my daughter," McGonagall replied in a rather frightening tone.

Harry could hear Lupin chuckling softly as Black drew his attention towards Luna and Ron instead.

As the number neared its end, Harry noticed that Pansy was looking rather upset. She was scowling and pushing her headdress back up, and missing all her cues. This could only mean one thing.

As the last note of the song ended, what Harry had been expecting happened.

"It's always the same! All they care about is the dancing!" Pansy screamed, throwing her hands up in the air. She walked over to their new managers, waving her finger in their faces. "If all you care about is dancers, you can have dancers! I will not be singing!"

She turned on her heels, which was a miracle since she didn't trip over her dress, and headed for the backstage. "I'm done!" she continued. "Finished! Nobody cares about my singing; I'll leave and go someplace else!"

"What do we do?" Lupin asked Fudge, who had come over to them during the commotion.

"Grovel," he replied simply.

Black and Lupin looked at each other, and then hurried after Pansy. Everyone was moving to make a path. They were used to Pansy's tantrums, so it came as no surprise this time.

"Lovely lady!" Black called out as he approached Pansy. "Siren of theatre!" He continued to spout out ridiculous terms, hoping to flatter her.

"No, no, no!" Pansy shouted, continuing on her way.

"Goddess of song!" Lupin cried.

This one seemed to have worked, because Pansy stopped and turned, although her lip was still in a firm pout. "Yes?"

Since Lupin had caused her to stop, he continued on. "How could we enjoy the beauty that is your voice when it is muffled by the chorus? Perhaps you could entertain us with a solo, Madame? The aria from Act Three, perhaps?" he asked, trying his best to look charming.

"How can I perform it for you when somebody hasn't finished my costume for it yet?" she asked, her voice raising and her seamstresses cowering.

"You look lovely as you are now," Black replied, stepping forward. "Could you overlook their delay for the time and pleasure us with that beautiful voice?"

Pansy paused, seemingly thinking about this. "Well, if my managers wish me to."

Black looked at Lupin, who nodded fervently. "Yes, of course."

Pansy turned, looking into the orchestra pit. "Maestro Dumbledore?" she questioned, looking down at the old man.

"If my diva commands," he sighed, not hiding his irritation.

"Yes, I do!" Pansy replied. She stepped towards the front of the stage as the orchestra quickly shuffled through their pages, looking for the beginning of the aria. "Quiet!" Pansy yelled, glaring at everybody. "Everyone quiet!"

Harry and the others stepped off towards the back of the stage, knowing full well that Pansy didn't want anyone else around her when she sang her solos, lest they steal her limelight. Black and Lupin joined Fudge and McGonagall off to the diva's side, and the music started. In the seats, Harry could see the cleaning women stuffing cotton into their ears.

Pansy started the song on a quivering note, which wasn't that unusual. Harry turned his head to look at Ron, who looked like he was cringing. Despite how many times this song was rehearsed, Ron always seemed to do that. But Pansy was the only woman in the theatre, in all of England for that matter, who could come close to singing the soprano part in tune.

As the first verse of the aria was coming to its end, Harry heard a noise from above. He looked up, noticing that the scaffolding was shaking slightly. Harry looked to see if any of the rope or light crew was nearby, but they weren't. Perhaps he hadn't seen them. He looked at Hermione, who was rolling her eyes. He could just imagine what she was thinking about.

Then Harry heard the sound of something falling from above. Everybody looked up to see a backdrop scrolling down fast, Pansy in its direct path. Hermione cried out, covering her face with her hands. Harry had an impulse to move and do something, but his feet were frozen to the wooden floor. Pansy, however, seemed to be the last one to notice. She tried to step forward but tripped on her dress, and the background pinned her legs down.

"Help me, you imbeciles!" she screamed, pounding on the floor. Black and Lupin reached her first, and some of the stage hands ran out and worked on moving the heavy background off of her. They managed to pull her out, but struggled with her heavy skirt. She was finally pulled up to her feet, and she threw her arms around, hitting anybody who was touching her.

Fudge looked up into the scaffolding. "Shunpike! What happened?" he called up at a skinny young man.

"I don't know, sir," he said nervously. "I wasn't at my post," he admitted. He grabbed the rope and Ron's brothers, twins Fred and George, joined him to pull the cloth back up. Harry noticed that something white fluttered down from the ceiling, disappearing behind the crowd.

"It was the Phantom!" Luna said, her whimsical voice reminding everyone that she was there.

"Phantom?" Black scoffed. "Don't tell me you all believe in ghosts?"

Lupin attempted to talk to Pansy again, approaching with caution. "Good lady, these accidents do happen."

Pansy suddenly froze, her face turning red with anger. "Happen? For the past three years, these 'accidents do happen'!" She turned to Fudge, who was starting to shake. "And did you stop them from happening? NO!" She looked back at Lupin and Black. "And you two! You're as bad as them! Until you stop these things from happening, this thing does not happen!" she shouted angrily, pointing to herself. "Goodbye!" And once again, she made a dramatic exit.

"What are we going to do?" Lupin asked, not bothering to chase after her. "It is opening night and we've just lost our star?"

Black took off his hat, raking his hand through his hair. "Isn't there an understudy or something for her?"

Dumbledore started laughing from his podium. "An understudy for Pansy? Hah! Even if we could find somebody talented enough, she wouldn't allow it!"

Black grabbed Lupin, shaking his shoulders. "We're going to have to refund a full house, Remus! We'll loose our investments!"

Harry could hear everyone talking; many of them worried about what would happen to them if the opera house had to close do to Pansy's childish tantrum.

"If you need me, I shall be in Australia," Fudge said, patting Black on the back before walking away.

Dumbledore threw his music sheets up in the air as McGonagall approached her new managers, something in her hands. "I have a letter from the Opera Ghost," she said calmly, holding it out to them.

"Good heavens," Black growled, "there are no such things as ghosts."

"They believe in you," Luna said absent mindedly, but they didn't seem to hear her.

McGonagall ignored her new managers and opened the snowy envelope, pulling out a small piece of parchment. "He welcomes you to his opera house…"

"His opera house?" Black interrupted, seeming rather huffy.

McGonagall looked at him for only a second before she continued. "And reminds you to leave Box 4 empty for his use." She pointed with her staff to a box seat off to stage right. "And his salary is due."

"His salary?" Lupin stepped in, starting to sound as agitated as his partner.

"Why, yes," McGonagall replied, placing the letter back in its envelope. "Mr. Fudge paid him twenty thousand pounds a month."

"Twenty thousand?" Black sounded outraged. "That's ridiculous!" He snatched the envelope from her hands and ripped it, throwing the pieces in the air. "Besides, how would we even pay him since we've lost our star?"

Lupin shook his head. "What would a ghost want with a salary? Not to mention a box seat." He looked up again towards Box 4, one of the best seats in the theatre. "If he's a ghost, he can just float around." It was clear that he was using humor to express his outrage. "Has anyone ever seen this specter using the box?" He looked around only to find shrugs and muttered nos. "Who's in charge of that box?"

Ron looked around nervously, and then stepped forward. "Excuse me, sirs, but my mother sees to Box 4. She was given the job when…"

"We don't care why, you foolish boy," Black interrupted, clenching his hat. "Where is your mother at right now?"

Harry could tell that Ron was getting uncomfortable. He didn't like confrontations when they came from his superiors. "Sh-she's at my sister's house."

"And can you go fetch her?" Lupin asked, his voice much calmer than his partner's although just as agitated.

"We'll go," the twins called down from above, hurrying towards the nearest ladder. "He needs to finish rehearsal." Before the managers could reply, the red headed pair was gone.

"Well, there's no sense of continuing rehearsal if there won't be a show tonight!" Black shouted, roughly placing his hat back on his head. "Unless you know anyone that can learn Pansy's part in what few hours you have."

"I can do it," a voice called out in the commotion. Everybody seemed to freeze in place, turning everywhere to see who had spoken.

"Who said that?" Black asked, stretching his tall figure to see over everyone.

Harry could feel his arm rise up in the air as if of its own accord, and his mouth open once more to speak. "I did, sir. I can sing her parts. I know them all."

"Harry!" Hermione gasped, looking confused. "What are you doing?"

Black walked over to Harry, looking at him rather sternly. "This is no time for jokes, boy," he said.

"I'm not joking, sir."

Black rolled his eyes and turned to walk away.

Something inside Harry told him that they wouldn't believe him until he proved it. But part of him was wondering why he had said anything to begin with. How could he sing a soprano's part? But another part of him, a feeling that didn't seem like it had been there before, was taking control. Harry opened his mouth, and to his surprise and everyone else's, the most beautiful voice could be heard.

"_Think of me,_ _think of me fondly, when we've said good-bye._

_"Remember me, trying too hard to put you from my mind."_

Harry continued to sing the aria a cappella, and he noticed that everyone was watching him in awe. Hermione's hand was over her mouth, and her eyes seemed to be tearing up. Black was frozen in place, his jaw opened wide in shock. McGonagall's eyebrows were as high as they ever had been, and Dumbledore looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or applaud.

Lupin was the first to speak when Harry had finished. "Forgive me for asking," he began, "but how are you able to sing like that?" His eyes dropped down, then looked back up at Harry as he whispered, "Are you a eunuch?"

Harry was horrified by this question. "No! Certainly not!"

Ron came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Bloody hell, why didn't you tell us about this?"

"He's a female impersonator!" Luna exclaimed, clapping excitedly as others around her burst out in laughter.

"That's it!" Black shouted, his face illuminating. "A female impersonator!" He approached Harry and took hold of his chin, which Harry flinched in pain. "This might actually work. Feminine eyes, small frame…with some makeup, nobody would realize you were a man!"

Harry pulled away from his grasp, a little scared about what he had just done. "I didn't say I would do it," Harry said, rubbing at his chin.

"But you must, boy. It's the only way we can keep this opera house open tonight. What's your name?"

"Harry Potter," he replied reluctantly.

"Hmm…" Black thought, rubbing at his own chin. "That won't do. We'll have to call you Harrietta for the audience's sake."

Harry could hear Ron laugh behind him. "I don't think so, sir," Harry insisted.

"Please!" Lupin said, falling to his knees in plea. "Don't you see you'll be helping everyone by doing this? Not to mention you'll be famous."

"Harry, you shouldn't waste that beautiful voice," Hermione joined.

Harry looked at everyone, watching him for an answer.

"All right."

Black took his hand and shook it violently. "You're a very lucky man. Strange man, but very lucky. Somebody take him and get him a wig! And fit him for all the costumes needed!"

Before Harry could even realize what he had gotten himself into, Pansy's seamstresses were dragging him offstage towards her dressing room. But he couldn't help but feel that someone was watching him. He looked up into the scaffolding, but could see nothing.

* * *

Author's Notes

For all the PotO fans, I am aware that it is Box 5. I changed it to Box 4 because…well, it's more of an inside joke, although it's not really a joke, it's just the thought of hearing the Phantom saying "4" compared to "5". In the words of my friend, Kim (who I write slash for :D ), "When he says, 'four,' it's so SEXY!" I am talking about the HP character who is the Phantom, not the PotO ghost, although his voice is sexy, too.


	2. Chapter 2

_**I'll Drink Your Deadly Poison**_

_**Chapter Two**_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or Phantom of the Opera. If I did, you would know my name and I wouldn't be in debt. I write for enjoyment and to see what kind of reaction I get from readers: so I LOVE reviews._

_ATTENTION: This chapter has been updated on January 24th, 2006, so there are some extended and additional scenes that previous readers have not read yet. So you might want to reread it before reading the following chapters._

* * *

He hated this. But because his father detested the opera, Draco was forced to make the appearance. He had asked his father that if he disliked the opera, why bother investing in it? His answer, of course, was that it was making him a lot of money since theatre was popular. So since he lived under his father's name, Draco was the one who had to suffer through the music and the wavering notes of that ridiculously self-absorbed woman.

The overdressed managers, seemingly jittery for their first night in the theatre, had given Draco Box 4 for the night. Apparently it was one of the best seats in the house, and they had kept it just for him. But when he walked up the steps to the box's door, the woman who attended the box looked at him as if he was about to enter the gates of Hell.

"Fortune be with you tonight, young sir," she muttered, opening the door rather reluctantly. "It's a cursed box you sit in."

Draco gave the frumpy red haired woman a curious glare. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're sitting in _his_ box," she replied, accentuating the word 'his' in such a manner that Draco sensed 'he' was a person of feared status.

"And who is this man who's box you claim I'm sitting in?" he continued.

Her round eyes widened in disbelief. "You do not know about the Opera Ghost?"

Draco rolled his eyes. Ghosts were childish stories parents told their children to keep them away from places they didn't want them venturing. "Well, if he appears, let him know he's welcome to share the box with me." Ignoring the look of shock on the woman's face, Draco walked through the door and shut it behind him.

Since this was promising to be a long evening, Draco settled into his solitary box seat and opened up his program. He put his feet up on the banister, despite the exclamations of disgust from the woman in the next box. He skimmed the program to see what scenes might be worthy of his attention. Perhaps he would stay awake long enough to see the battle, as long as there was some bloodshed, even if it was staged. The only reason he would watch the ballets was to determine which girl, or girls, would be lucky enough to spend the rest of the evening with him after the backstage celebration.

The couple in the next box was chattering rather excitedly, drawing Draco's attention. He heard them say something about Miss Parkinson being ill. Well, this night was looking better already. He wouldn't have to handle being around Pansy at the celebration if she was home sick.

As the lights dimmed, Draco wondered who would be singing the leading lady's role. He would have to stay awake then if he wanted this answered. Draco was impressed by Pettigrew, who seemed to become brave when he was in the limelight.

And then she appeared.

She entered the stage with all the grace of an angel, far better than Pansy had been able to maneuver in the extravagant costume. Draco took the opera glasses that mother lent him and held them to his eyes for a closer look. A vision of light in a white gown, Draco was captivated by her brilliant emerald eyes. Not only did she appear to have stepped down from heaven, her voice put to shame everyone else he had heard that night.

Draco found himself leaning forward in his seat, his elbows propped up on the banister now to get the best view possible. He had been watching the beautiful angel so intently that he barely noticed the curtain flutter next to him. He peered over to see what would have caused it, but saw that no one was there. He shrugged it off, only to shiver as he heard a cold voice whisper in his ear:

"Do not take what is mine."

Draco turned to see who dared speak to him in such a manner, but he was alone in the box. He looked over at the couple in the box next to him, but they were drawn in by the performance. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he recalled what the woman had said about this being a ghost's box. But when nothing else happened, he dismissed it as a figment of his imagination and once more turned his attention towards the stage.

The song seemed to last forever and yet not long enough. Before Draco realized it, everyone was standing and applauding while the new diva bowed her head, her smile illuminating her face. Draco found himself standing as well, joining in the cries of, "Brava!" as some audience members threw roses onto the stage at her feet. The curtains drew closed, and Draco was disappointed to learn that the opera had ended.

"Count Malfoy!"

Draco turned to see Sirius Black and Remus Lupin push their way through the crowd into his box seat, looking quite pleased.

"I hope you enjoyed the show tonight," Lupin asked cheerfully.

"What happened to Miss Parkinson?" Draco asked, curious to know where Porter had come from.

Black looked a little nervous. "Well, there was a problem with Miss Parkinson," he started. "But don't you think we've made quite a discovery with Miss Porter?" he asked, looking hopeful.

"Yes, indeed," Draco replied, looking back at the stage. "Could you introduce me to her?"

Lupin and Black looked at each other apprehensively for a second. "Well, we're not so sure if Miss Porter hasn't been overwhelmed by her performance tonight."

"Yes, I'm sure Harrietta will be a bundle of nerves after such a gala," Remus added.

Draco wouldn't take no for an answer. "What a shame. I was thinking of asking my father to invest more with the discovery of Miss Porter."

Remus and Sirius looked at each other once more, and then nodded. "Certainly we shall introduce you!"

* * *

Harry could hardly notice the cold stone floor beneath the layers of the dress. Until tonight, Harry had no idea how difficult a process a woman went through to dress up. He had grown up accustomed to make up and surrendering his hair to stylists, but that was as being a male. When they had pulled him aside earlier that day during the rehearsal, he had gone through more than he had ever dreamed. They picked at his eyebrows, bathed him in expensive fragrances, and securely attached a wig made with silky raven curls. He was wearing rouge on his lips that he couldn't help but keep licking at whenever no one was around. Luckily, Harry was born with a small frame that he was able to wear the fancy dress without tightening the corset too much, although it was tight enough to make it appear he had curves where none existed before. He had wanted to change out of the dress, but his new managers and even McGonagall agreed that it was best for him to remain in it during the after party. Somehow he had managed to escape the festivity backstage, though, before he was forced to greet the rich patrons who were eager to meet the new diva.

Harry had taken refuge in the floor below that lead to the catacombs and dungeons of the old castle. One room had been made into a small sanctuary, where Harry had come often to light a candle in memory of his parents. As he watched the tiny flames dance on the candles in front of him, he took a sip from the wine cup as he sang a hymn in prayer, like he did every night he came down here. As he set the glass down, he could hear the soft footfalls of someone on the stairs. He turned around to see who it was, and sighed as he saw Hermione appear around the corner.

"So this is where you have run off to," she smiled, kneeling down beside him. "Everyone's looking for you. They all think you were marvelous."

Harry could feel himself blushing and he lowered his head. "I feel ridiculous in this get up, though."

"How do you do it?" Hermione asked, her voice almost a whisper. "How can you sing like that?"

Harry paused in thought. "I don't rightly know. I just opened my mouth, and this voice came out."

"But don't you find it odd? I mean, you're a man…"

"Of course I find it odd," Harry interrupted, starting to stand up. He struggled with his dress, and Hermione jumped up to help him. "I could never sing like this before. Whenever I sang it was in the chorus, or when I sang hymns in chapel." Harry pulled his arm away from Hermione and fixed the gloves that covered his hands. "It's almost like I'm not myself when I sing. There's this voice in my head that tells me to sing, and so I do. I feel like something sweeps down and takes over me, and all I can do is watch. It's like I'm…"

"Like you're under a spell?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded in reply, grabbing his skirt up so he could turn around to face the stairs. "I guess I better go ahead and get the introductions over with," he said, careful not to trip in the awkward shoes.

"Are they going to tell them you're a female impersonator, or continue with the female façade?" Hermione asked, following behind him.

"Mister Black insisted on keeping my identity a secret, so I have to pretend to be a woman. Apparently impersonators are frowned upon in polite society," Harry replied.

"But in Shakespeare's time, all the female roles were played by men," Hermione said as they found their way into the well lit hallway that lead to the backstage.

"Well we're not living in Shakespearian time," Harry answered, checking that his wig was still in place. He wondered if it was odd that he was getting used to the long hair that kept brushing against his bare shoulders.

"Ah, there's the star of our show!"

Harry found himself being pulled away by Sirius Black and caught in a swell of ladies wearing too much perfume and men smoking expensive cigars. He tried not to talk, which worked well since everyone was either too drunk to notice him or could talk the ear off of a horse. It didn't take him long to escape once more, this time to the refuge of Pansy's dressing room, which had been designated as his for the evening.

Harry was welcomed by the overwhelming scent of roses filling every corner of the room, overflowing on the dressing table and sofas, and anything else that was inhabiting the room but had been hidden by the silken flowers. Harry found his way over to the screen divider, hoping he would be able to change and slip back into the crowd without noticing Harrietta Porter had disappeared.

Struggling to reach the buttons in the back, Harry finally managed to undo them and he slipped the dress away from his chest. He took a deep breath, feeling that for the first time that night he could breathe again. He thought he heard the door shut, but when he looked at the screen, the only shadows he could see were his own and the flickering candles. He shrugged and turned back around, continuing to undress.

As the dress slid free from his chest and he started to undo the strings of the corset, he felt something cold against his back that startled him. He tried to scream in shock, but his voice seemed to be trapped in his throat.

"Don't you know it is bad manners for a guest of honor to run out on her party?"

The voice that whispered in his ear sent a tingle up Harry's spine. The seductive tone scared him as well, since he realized it was a man whose hands were sliding against his bare skin. Harry thought of moving, slapping away the fingers that were slipping under the waist line of his dress, but everything seemed to be moving so fast.

"Of course, this gives us a chance to get to know each other better, my angel of music," the voice spoke again, lips threateningly close to touching his naked shoulder. His cold hands were venturing further than Harry would have liked, and before he knew it, one had started to dip beneath the top of his corset, while the other…

"What in God's name is this!"

Harry pulled away as the man who had been groping him jumped back, knocking over the screen. Harry, thinking quickly, pulled up the dress again to cover his chest in case any more unwanted visitors burst in to see what the commotion was. Harry turned around and was horrified to see who was sprawled out on top of the fallen divider.

"Draco Malfoy!"

Draco had been trying to stand up, but he froze when Harry had said his name. His pale eyes narrowed, as if searching through the many faces of the people he had met to identify this strange person in front of him. Draco looked into those brilliant green eyes that had caught his attention earlier that night, and realized who he was looking at.

"Potter! I always knew you were a freak!" he spat, clumsily standing up. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Harry's eyes widened, his teeth clenching in anger. "Me? What do you think you're doing in here? What exactly were you planning on doing?" he yelled, making wild gestures before throwing his hands up in disgust. "Never mind, I don't want to know. Just get the hell out of here!"

"Gladly!" Draco retorted, pulling at his coat to straighten it. "The last thing I need is for someone to find me in here with a pervert like you!"

"Who's the pervert?" Harry replied, stepping forward and nearly tripping on the hem of his dress. "You're the one sneaking around and trying to fondle people without knowing who they are!"

Draco's eyes seemed to be trying to burn a hole through Harry, and he finally growled with frustration. His cheeks were as pink as the roses that filled the room, and he finally turned on his heels and left the room without another word.

Harry sunk into a nearby chair, ignoring the sound the petals and leaves made against the dress. He tried to run a hand through his hair, but the wig he wore was pinned up so that it wouldn't move. Harry pulled at the pins that held it in place and yanked off the wig, throwing it across the room at the vanity table. Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands and sighed in frustration.

He sat that way for awhile, replaying in his mind what all had happened: he'd been dressed like woman, sang like a woman, and had been fondled as if he were a woman. Harry blushed as he remembered the feel of Draco's hands on him, and he pulled at his hair, as if the pain would replace it.

Harry lifted his head, hearing a voice calling to him, almost a whisper. He looked around the room, turning in the chair, but he was alone in the room. He shook off the feeling and stood up, walking over to the vanity. He thought his reflection was rather odd, a fancy dress, make up, and messy short hair. Picking up his wig and attempting to put it back on before rejoining the party, Harry noticed something blood red on the table. He looked down to see a single rose, a black satin ribbon tied around its stem. Harry picked it up and felt an urge to breath in its scent.

Suddenly the candles in the room went out, and Harry found himself surrounded by darkness. His eyes darted around the room, trying to see if perhaps a window was open, but he found that there were none. He froze in place, wondering if perhaps it was his imagination playing tricks on his mind.

Then something caught his eye. There was movement off to his right, and he turned slowly to face the elaborate full length mirror that hung on the wall. Its golden ornate frame seemed to glitter in the darkness from some unknown light source. At second glance, Harry noticed that the light was coming from behind the glass, and his reflection wasn't the only thing looking back at him.

For the second time that evening, Harry felt that he had swallowed his heart. There in the mirror was a silhouette of a man, which was becoming clearer each passing second. His face was mostly hidden beneath a snow-white mask, and his black mane was slicked back.

"Who are you?" Harry finally stammered out, his hand clenching around the rose.

A gloved hand rose up from beneath his dark cloak, waving for him to approach the mirror. _"I am your angel of music…"_

The lips of the masked man didn't move, but Harry knew it was his voice. It was the same one that had echoed in his head earlier, and a voice that he hadn't realized until now had been haunting his dreams.

_"Come to me, angel of music,"_ it sang again, his hand reaching out to Harry, the glass seemingly gone.

Harry, hypnotized by the dark man's voice, started walking towards the mirror. The long wig slipped down from atop his head, but he let it fall to the floor. His hands dropped down to his sides, and the rose landed beside the silken curls, discarded by their owner.

Without breaking his gaze with the mysterious man, Harry stepped through the mirror into a candlelit corridor. The man held out his hand to Harry, who slowly placed his own gloved hand into the awaiting grasp. As the long fingers curled around his hand, Harry suddenly felt that everything he knew was about to change.


	3. Chapter 3

**_I'll Drink Your Deadly Poison_**

_**Chapter 3**_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or Phantom of the Opera. If I did, you would know my name and I wouldn't be in debt. I write for enjoyment and to see what kind of reaction I get from readers: so I LOVE reviews._

_ATTENTION: This chapter has been updated on January 24th, 2006, so there are some extended and additional scenes that previous readers have not read yet. So you might want to reread it before reading the following chapters._

* * *

Harry was led down the corridor, barely noticing the golden arms that extended from the glittering walls, moving as they passed to illuminate the way with the candelabras they held. With each step he began to recall more and more of his recurring dreams, dreams that he had always forgotten as soon as he awoke. Now they were flooding back, and they all seemed to be adding up to this moment. They had all been about a masked man in a mirror, reaching out for Harry and singing to him, coaxing him to join him.

The man, who Harry believed to be the Phantom that the opera house was always whispering about, turned his masked face back to look at him before turning away again. Harry felt he had surrendered control of his body, his will power seemingly vanished. As they continued down the narrow stone hallway, Harry realized he had started to sing, his inner thought gone.

"_In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came. That voice which calls to me and speaks my name. And do I dream again? For now I find the Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind."_

The corridor opened up into a staircase which seemed to disappear into darkness. As Harry walked down it, he realized that the light disappeared into shadow as the pathway curved, taking them deeper below the castle. An urge overcame him, and he turned his head slightly to look back, the candelabras vanishing from sight. He thought of letting go of the Phantom's hand, but it was a fleeting thought, and he turned back to face the man whose voice was beginning to captivate him.

"_Sing once again with me our strange duet. My power over you grows stronger yet. And though you turn from me to glance behind, the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind."_

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Harry was directed into a small boat. Harry hadn't realized that the lower dungeon levels were flooded, and he tried his best to gather his skirt so that it didn't fall into the murky water. As he sat down, the Phantom stepped in behind him, grabbing a black pole that was leaning against a nearby wall. He used it to push the boat forward, similar to a gondola. As the floated along, Harry could hear himself singing again, wondering when he had started.

"_Those who have seen your face draw back in fear. I am the mask you wear…"_

"_It's me they hear," _the Phantom replied, his voice rich and dark.

"_Your spirit and my voice in one combined. The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind."_

As they traveled through the watery passages of the old dungeon, Harry noticed lights coming from the surface of the dark water ahead. Within a few seconds, the lights grew stronger, and then giant candelabras broke through the water, the flames never dimming. As they were rising, Harry saw that they were now in a large cavern, and he presumed this is where the Phantom lived. In the far corner of the room there was a large bed, covered in blood red sheets and sheltered by a sheer black curtain. Closer to the embankment that they were approaching was a pipe organ, worn from age and use. It had probably been damaged on its journey down to the dungeons, but it appeared to be in working order. There were music sheets all over the place, on tables and littered on the floor. There were candles everywhere, and even a miniature replica of the opera house that they had left above them.

Whether it was from the cold of the stone walls surrounding them and the water beneath the boat or the eerie feeling Harry had, he could fill a shiver travel up his skin. The Phantom jumped out of the boat and onto the stone floor, and in one swift move, he untied his cloak and threw it off, letting it fall to the ground. Leaving Harry in the boat, he walked up to the organ, and turned back, starting to sing in the rich tone that was hypnotizing Harry.

"_I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's throne, to this kingdom where all must pay homage to music. Music…You have come here for one purpose and one alone. Since the moment I first saw you, Harry, I have needed you with me to serve me, to sing for my music. My music." _

He paused, and the melody he sang changed, his voice soft yet alluring. _"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses." _The Phantom walked back to Harry as he sang, and held his hand out to him, which Harry automatically accepted. He felt weightless as he was pulled up and lead away from the boat.

"_Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it; sense it, tremulous and tender. Turn your face away from the garish light of day, turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light. And listen to the music of the night." _Harry had turned to look back again, a small part once more thinking of returning to the dormitories. But the Phantom had gently touched his chin, turning his face back to meet his dark eyes. Harry felt a rush of excitement race through his body as the Phantom continued to serenade him.

"_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams. Purge all thoughts of the life you knew before. Close your eyes; let your spirit start to soar." _As the Phantom sang the last word, the note was high yet rang as clear as a crystal bell, and Harry felt his heart beat faster in awe. He opened his eyes to find the Phantom watching him._ "And you'll live as you've never lived before."_

"_Softly, deftly, music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it, secretly posses you. Open up your mind; let your fantasies unwind in this darkness that you know you cannot fight. The darkness of the music of the night."_ The Phantom led him further from the boat, up the few steps that led to the pipe organ and the rest of his cove.

"_Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world, leave all thought of the life you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be. Only then can you belong to me." _As the last phrase was sung, Harry noticed the longing look in the Phantom's eyes. He brushed his gloved hands against Harry's cheeks, and Harry held his breath at the sensitive touch. Then without realizing what was happening, the Phantom had turned him around and had wrapped his arm around his waist, his hand grazing his hips. The Phantom's other hand took Harry's and pulled it up to his own face as he continued to sing.

"_Floating, falling, sweet intoxication. Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation. Let the dream begin. Let your darker side give in to the power of the music that I write. The power of the music of the night."_

Harry turned to face him, his cheeks redder than the blush the dressers had put there. The Phantom touched his cheek again, his hand finding its way into Harry's messy hair. He felt like he was drowning in the eyes that were pulling him closer, and Harry was suddenly overpowered by the soft touch of the Phantom's lips against his own. Harry felt dizzy at the kiss, and felt his knees collapse underneath him as the room began to spin.

"_You alone can make my song take flight. Help me make the music of the night," _the Phantom sang, sweeping Harry up into his arms and carrying him over to the bed. Harry tried to keep his eyes open as he was laid down on the silken sheets, wondering what the Phantom was going to do next. But the last image he remembered was the Phantom standing over him and closing the black curtain.

* * *

"I haven't seen him since the last act," Ron said, answering a fretful Hermione. The two had slipped out of their rooms to search for their missing friend. Approaching Pansy's dressing room, Hermione pulled out a large ring of keys from her robe. "Where did you get those from?" Ron whispered, looking around to make sure no one was watching. Anybody who was awake or hadn't passed out was either still drinking or indulging in activities that Ron had been hoping to do as well. But Hermione couldn't think of anything but finding Harry. 

"I took them from my mother's room," Hermione replied, trying several keys before successfully hearing a clicking noise. She put turned the handle and slowly pushed the door open, peeking her head inside. "Harry? Are you in here?"

"Don't you think he would have come to the door with all that noise you were making with the keys?" Ron sneered, slightly agitated that his time was being wasted when he could be doing other things. "He's probably off snogging with one of the chorus girls," he said, stepping past Hermione into the room. "Blimey, this is a lot of roses for a bloke."

"Ron, will you stop complaining?" Hermione sighed, following Ron in. She looked around the room, and paused when she saw the mirror. She grabbed Ron's arm, tugging on his hand to get his attention. "Does something look wrong with that?" she asked, pointing to it.

Ron approached the mirror, Hermione hanging onto his arm. "You're right. It's not sitting in its frame correctly." He touched the mirror, and it shifted slightly. "There's a passageway behind here!" he said in surprise, sliding the mirror back enough so he could go through. He peered at the back of the mirror to find that he could see the room and a puzzled Hermione. "You can see through the glass!" He paused for a moment, thinking about this fact. "Disgusting! Someone's been watching Pansy undress."

"Ronald Weasley! What a thing to say!"

"There's a tunnel back here," Ron continued, ignoring her. "I wonder where it goes?" he said, starting to lead her into the dark corridor.

"Ron, no!" she gasped, pulling on his arm. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going to find out where Harry went," he replied, still towing her along.

"Well, shouldn't we take a candle or two with us so we can see?" Hermione asked, looking back.

Ron was about to reply when he heard her gasp. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to find McGonagall there, looking rather upset. Without a word she led the two back into the dressing room and to the backstage.

"What do you two think you were doing?" McGonagall finally spoke, turning the corner to go up the stairs to the dormitories. "I thought I had taught you better than to go snooping in places you didn't belong, Hermione," she said. Although her voice was scolding, they could notice a slight worried tone.

"We were looking for Harry," Hermione replied. "He's been missing for most of the evening."

"I'm sure he's fine wherever he is," her mother replied, stepping onto the landing.

"Do you know where he is?" Ron asked.

McGonagall didn't answer. She opened the door to the ballet dormitories and they were met with laughter and screams. Ron's brothers, twins Fred and George were up to their old tricks, telling stories to scare the girls. Hermione and Ron circled around them to sit on her empty bed as they listened to their newest tale.

"I hear he's got yellow skin, like old paper," George said, sitting on the headboard of a bed.

"They say he hasn't got a nose at all," Fred whispered, causing several girls to lean closer to hear better. "All that's there is a great black hole." He leaned in close to one of the girls, covering his nose as if to illustrate his point.

"No, he has a nose all right," George politely argued. "He wears that mask of his to hide how abnormally large it is."

Fred laughed, along with some of the girls, although theirs was rather nervously.

"Have you heard about his lips, dear brother?" George continued, sliding down from his seat and slipped his arm around a young blonde girl. She jumped at the contact, but then settled into his hold, thinking he was consoling her.

"Aye, I have," Fred replied, winking at Ron and Hermione. "They're poison, those lips. One kiss would mean instant death. Even hearing his voice, after it passes through his lips, would be the same as swallowing venom."

"That's a lie," Hermione retorted, crossing her arms in agitation. "You don't think we actually believe your stories?"

Fred and George looked at each other as if they had just been challenged. "I wouldn't expect a prude like you to believe in tales of fantasy," Fred jested. Ron jumped up, looking threateningly at his older brother.

"You take that back!"

McGonagall reappeared in the room, and a hush came over her students. "If you two knew any better, you would hold your tongue," she said sternly, glaring at the twins. "Now off to bed with you all. We have a long day ahead of us in the morning."

* * *

Sirius and Remus were sitting in their office. Well, Remus was sitting. Sirius was pacing the room, scratching at his hair in the familiar manner that Remus recognized as agitation. Of course he had every reason to be so. 

"I don't understand why this is happening," he grumbled to his partner. "Here we are, our first day as managers, and all hell breaks loose."

"I wouldn't say it's all been horrible," Remus reminded him. "That boy—I mean, Harrietta Porter, is quite a find. The public loved him—her." He made a note to himself to remember that Harry Potter was to be referred to as a young woman, lest the public discovered his identity.

"But now our new star is missing!" Black sighed, sitting on the desk despite the fact he was mixing up the documents underneath him. "So now we've lost two sopranos. In one day, mind you!"

"Perhaps we are cursed," Remus replied, finding this thought amusing. "Mrs. Weasley was very adamant about the existence of this Opera Ghost. Apparently, he's a very powerful being."

"Don't tell me you're going to start believing in this Opera Ghost. It's enough that are employees are obsessed with this false apparition."

Remus propped his feet up on the desk, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, what do you propose we do about this salary that this mysterious phantom is demanding?"

Sirius turned to look at him as if he were mad. "I'm not going to give anyone who claims to be a ghost money. Besides, what has he done to deserve it?"

"Perhaps it was someone bribing Mister Fudge," Remus suggested.

"Well, then it's not our problem."

* * *

Harry felt terribly groggy. His eyelids seemed to be weighed down by some invisible force because he was struggling to open them. Trying to sit up, Harry suddenly felt like he had been drinking all night long. Deciding to wait a little bit longer before sitting up, Harry tried to remember what he had been doing that night to feel this awful. 

He was suddenly aware that the clothes he was wearing were not his normal attire. He felt blindly at his body, finding that he was wearing something silky and low cut. Harry finally opened his eyes and sat up, looking down at the full skirt that seemed to bury him. When he looked up, he didn't recognize his surroundings, except for in his dreams.

Suddenly music filled the air, and Harry turned to look through the sheer curtain that circled the bed he was in. A masked man—that man from his dreams—was playing an old pipe organ. Harry groaned, realizing that everything that had happened was not a dream. He had been dressed as a woman and sang in front of hundreds. Draco Malfoy had appeared in his dressing room and made a fool of his self. And Harry had been led down to the dungeons by the Phantom of the Opera.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and slowly standing up, Harry began to wonder who this Phantom was. He had heard so many rumors, but most of them insisted that he was a ghost. But Harry knew that he was a man, because a spirit couldn't have such warm lips. Harry felt his cheeks burn as he remembered, and he decided he wanted to know who the man was behind the mask.

Harry pulled the curtain back and walked towards the Phantom, who continued to play the organ which was pouring out a sad, eerie tune. Harry could feel his hands shaking as he drew closer. He paused, wondering if he should go through with it. His curiosity was stronger, and his fingers gripped at the mask.

It all seemed to happen so fast. As Harry pulled the mask off, the Phantom jumped up and knocked Harry onto the ground. He covered his face, screaming at him. _"Damn you! You little prying Pandora! You little demon! This is what you wanted to see?"_ With his other hand he pointed angrily at his covered face. Harry cringed back in fright. _"Curse you! You little lying Delilah! You little viper! Now you cannot ever be free! Damn you! Curse you!"_

The Phantom yanked a curtain off of a mirror, looking at his reflection. Harry began to sit up, his body still trembling. What had he done?

"_Stranger than you dreamt it. Can you even dare to look or bear to think of me? This loathsome gargoyle who burns in hell but secretly yearns for heaven? Secretly? Secretly?_ Oh, Harry." He paused for a moment, turning finally to look at Harry. If he had expected an answer, the Phantom didn't wait that long before continuing.

"_Fear can turn to love. You'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster. This repulsive carcass who seems a beast but secretly dreams of beauty. Secretly, secretly…"_

The Phantom had come to sit down next to Harry, and he could see the sorrowful look on his face, despite the dreadful scars Harry could barely see under the gloved hand. Harry suddenly felt moved by the lonely look that shimmered in his dark eyes, and Harry held out the mask to him.

"I'm sorry," Harry found himself whispering on a weak breath.

* * *

Sirius Black pressed through the crowd that had been forming outside of Hogwarts. There were men with cameras and other asking him what had happened to Miss Parkinson, who was Miss Harrietta Porter, and were there any leads to her disappearance. Sirius tossed his newspaper in the bin, not caring to read any more of the lies that a reporter named Skeeter had written. The doormen opened the door quickly for him and shut it to prevent anyone from slipping in behind him. Sirius looked around the empty entrance hall, and the cleaning ladies moved out of his way as he walked by them. 

"_Mystery after gala night. It says mystery of soprano's flight. Mystified, all the papers say. We are mystified, we suspect foul play. Bad news on soprano scene. First Miss Pansy, now Porter. Still, at least, the seats get sold. Gossip's worth its weight in gold. What a way to run a business. Spare me these unending trials. Half your cast disappears but the crowd still cheers. Opera. To hell with Gluck and Handel have a scandal and you're sure to have a hit!"_

The women had scooted their wash buckets away as Sirius walked over their clean floor with his dusty shoes. They wondered if he was talking to them, but they ignored him and continued cleaning. Suddenly, Remus appeared from one of the upstairs levels, looking rather upset.

"_Ðamnable! Will they all walk out? This is damnable!" _He shook his hands at Sirius in frustration.

"_Remus, please don't shout! It's publicity, and the take is vast. Free publicity!"_ Sirius tried to coax his friend, but it wasn't working.

"_But we have no cast!" _Remus shouted, sounding frantic. He tucked his hands back into his jacket, pulling out an envelope.

"_Remus have you seen the queue? Ah, it seems you've got one, too." _Sirius pointed to Remus' envelope, pulling out one of his own from his pocket. He listened intently as his friend read the letter out loud.

"_Dear Lupin, what a charming gala. Harry was in a word, sublime. We were hardly bereft when Miss Pansy left. On that note, the diva's a disaster! Must you cast her when she's seasoned past her prime?"_

Sirius opened his letter and read it for Remus to hear. _"Dear Black, just a brief reminder. My salary has not been paid. Send it care of the ghost by return of post. P.T.O. No one likes a debtor so it's better if my orders are obeyed."_

The men looked at each other, looking appalled. _"Who would have the gall to send this? Someone with a puerile brain. These are both signed OG."_

"_Who the hell is he?" _Remus asked, and they both paused to think of the answer._ "Opera Ghost! It's really short of shocking, he is mocking our position."_

"_In addition he wants money,"_ Sirius added, quite upset with this fact.

Remus was also not amused by the demands set by this phantom. _"What a funny apparition."_

"_To expect a large retainer. Nothing's plainer, he is really quite insane!"_ they both agreed.

"Where is she?" Draco Malfoy had appeared and was angrily climbing the staircase towards the managers.

"_You mean Miss Pansy?"_

"I mean 'Miss Porter'. Where is he?" Draco looked at them curiously, wondering why they were singing at him.

"_Well how did you know?" _Lupin asked, eyeing Draco curiously. He wondered what had happened after Malfoy had shut himself in the room with their masquerading star.

"Never mind," Draco replied quickly, changing the subject back to the letter. "I want an answer." He pulled out an envelope and waved it at them. "I take it that you sent me this note?" Draco asked, looking mad.

"_What's all this nonsense?"_ Remus asked, puzzled by Draco's note, since the envelope was the same as his and Sirius'.

"_Of course not!" _Black replied, looking offended.

"_Don't look us!"_

"He's not with you then?" Draco persisted, thinking of what he would do to the two fools if they were lying.

"_Of course not!"_

"_We're in the dark!"_ Remus commented. "You were the last one to see Miss Porter before her disappearance."

"Please stop singing! And I know that 'Miss' Porter is not a miss at all. Now, isn't this the letter you wrote?"

"_And what is it that we're meant to have wrote? _Uh, written_?"_ Black spoke the last part as he corrected his grammar, seeming agitated for making such a mistake.

"Do not fear for Harry. The Angel of Music has him under his wing. Make no attempt to see him again."

"If you didn't write it then who did?" Draco asked, sounding annoyed.

"Someone who obviously knows that you and Harry are more than acquaintances…" Remus replied, eyeing Draco in a rather peculiar way. Draco glared back, daring him to speak his mind.

"_Where is he?"_

The voice was high pitched and Draco resisted the urge to cringe. The gentleman turned on the stairs to see Pansy, followed by her dress makers, entering the hall looking quite flustered.

"_Oh welcome back!" _Black and Lupin sang, rushing down to greet her.

"_Your precious patron! Where is he?" _Pansy continued, spotting Draco on the staircase. She held up her dress as she started up towards him.

"What is it now?"

"_I have your letter, a letter which I rather resent!" _She answered in that wavering voice of hers. She held out an envelope which looked remarkably similar to Draco's.

"_And did you send it?" _Black asked, looking shocked.

"Of course not! And stop this incessant singing!"

"_As if he would,"_ Lupin replied, acting as if it was a silly thought.

"_You didn't send it?"_ Pansy asked, shaking the letter at him questioningly.

"_Of course not! _Damn it!" Draco swore at himself for getting caught up in the singing.

"_What's going on?"_

"_You dare to tell me that this is not the letter you sent?"_ Pansy held it out for Draco to see, and he could tell that she was tapping her foot impatiently at him.

"And what is it that I'm meant to have sent?" Draco pulled the parchment out of its envelope and read it out loud. "Your days at the Hogwarts Opera are numbered. Harrietta Porter will be singing on your behalf now. Be prepared for a great misfortune if you should attempt to take her place."

Lupin and Black could tell that Miss Parkinson was ready to erupt with rage. They looked at each other and nodded, agreeing that they must take action. What use was a diva if she kept disappearing? At least this temperamental star could be won over with the right persuasion. They looped their arms through hers, pulling her away from Draco and started up the stairs.

"_Far too many notes for my taste, and most of them about Porter. All we've heard since we've came is Miss Porter's name."_

"_Miss Porter has returned." _McGonagall said, appearing at the bottom of the steps. Hermione and Ron were beside her, looking up at the rather troubled group.

"_I hope no worse for wear as far as we're concerned," _Remus said, sounding worried at first but changing his tone quickly with a glance from Pansy.

"_Where precisely is she now?" _Black asked, curious as to what had happened to their young star.

"_I thought it best she was alone,"_ McGonagall replied, not at all pleased with her managers' attitudes.

"_She needed rest," _Hermione replied, taking a step forward.

"_May we see her?" _Lupin spoke, wanting to question the young man's whereabouts.

"_No I'm afraid she will see no one,"_ McGonagall said firmly.

"_Will she sing? Will she sing?"_ Pansy asked, looking rather nervous about this. She didn't want to admit that she was threatened by this newcomer's promising talent.

"_Here, I have a note," _McGonagall simply stated, holding out yet another envelope. Draco was starting to become annoyed by their appearances.

"_Let me see it," _Black said, stepping down to take it from the instructor's hand. "Gentlemen, I have now sent you notes of the most amiable nature detailing how my theatre is to be run. You have not followed my instructions. I shall give you one last chance. Harrietta Porter has returned to you, and I am anxious her career should progress. In the new production of _Il Muto_ you will therefore cast Miss Pansy as the pageboy, and put Miss Porter in the role of countess. The roll which Miss Porter plays calls for charm and appeal. The role of the pageboy is silent which makes my casting in a word, ideal. I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in box four, which will be kept empty for me. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination shall occur. I remain, gentleman, faithfully yours, O.G."

"_Porter!"_ Pansy cried angrily, shaking her hands in the air.

"_Whatever next?"_ Lupin sighed, taking the letter from his partner. He looked it over while Pansy continued her ranting.

"_It's all a ploy to help Porter!" _

"_This is insane." _Black put his hand to his head, shaking it in disbelief.

"_I know who sent this: Count Malfoy, her lover," _Pansy spat, looking threateningly at Draco. "I've heard the rumors about you being the last one with her. And in my dressing room! You've defiled my haven!"

"Indeed!" Draco said, appalled. "You're crazed with jealousy!"

"_Miss Pansy! Nothing's changed!"_ Lupin tried to coax her.

"_You are our star, and always will be!"_ Black added.

"_Miss Pansy! The man is mad. We don't take orders!"_

"_Miss Porter will be playing the pageboy,"_ Black said suddenly, silencing everyone. _"The silent role. Miss Pansy will be playing the lead."_

"_It's useless trying to appease me. You're only saying this to please me!" _Pansy cried, hurrying off to her dressing room.

"_Who scorn his word, beware to those, the angel sees, the angel knows."_ McGonagall sang behind them, warning them that ignoring the Phantom's orders would not be in their best interest.

"_You have reviled me! You have rebuked me!" _They had entered her dressing room and her maids were starting to gather up her belongings, cramming dresses into bags and even taking pictures off of the walls.

"_Madame, please pardon us."_

"_You have replaced me!"_ Pansy screeched, turning sharply on her heels to face Lupin and Black.

"_Please Madame, we beseech you."_

"_This hour will see your darkest fears, the angel knows, the angel hears," _McGonagall warned, but they seemed to be ignoring her.

"I must see Miss Porter, where is she?" Draco asked, wanting to question Harry about the letter. Nobody else had known about their uncomfortable encounter last night in which he discovered Harry's identity, so he was determined that Harry had something to do with the troublesome note.

"_Madame, sing for us. Don't be a martyr!"_ Remus and Sirius continued, imploring her now.

"_What new surprises lie in store?"_ McGonagall and Hermione sang, Ron tailing behind them. The two seemed to understand their instructor's warnings better than the selfish managers.

"_Our star!"_

"Your public needs you."

Pansy seemed to ponder this as Black spoke, and they took the opportunity to lead her back in the entryway. Through the glass doors they could see the crowd, waving frantically for the smallest acknowledgment from Pansy, while others snapped shots with their cameras.

"We need you, too," Lupin said in her ear, snapping her out of what seemed a happy dream.

"_Would you not rather have your precious little ingénue?"_ Pansy asked, sounding irritated.

"_Madame, no. The world wants you."_

Pansy continued to look out the windows, smiling at the crowd outside. With that look, Black and Lupin knew they had won over the prima donna. They pushed all thoughts of the mysterious ghost aside, which they would later regret.


	4. Chapter 4

_**I'll Drink Your Deadly Poison**_

_**Chapter 4**_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter characters or the Phantom of the Opera. If I did, you would know my name and I wouldn't have debts. :D

* * *

_

Harry opened his eyes slowly, the glow of the dressing room much brighter than the candlelit hovel of the Phantom's. He rubbed his hands against his eyes, hoping to shield some of the light until he could become accustomed to it once more. But instead he noticed something around his finger that shined in the lamp lights. Opening his eyes wider, Harry recognized the item to be a simple gold band, like those used in marriage.

At this thought, Harry shot up from the couch he was laying on, feeling slightly panicked. His mind raced through the events of last night and this morning, looking for an answer to why he was wearing a wedding ring. Harry made to pull it off, but when he touched the smooth surface of the band, he remembered that he was not to remove it.

Harry had asked the Phantom to bring him back to the surface, but the man refused. "If you had not seen my face, I would have let you, because I know you would have returned to see me. But now that your eyes have laid rest on my hideous form, I can't let you go!" Harry could see that the feigned ghost was sorrowful, because he had dropped down to kiss the hem of Harry's skirt. "I'm sorry, my love, but it is your own actions that has rendered your consequences."

Harry, having witnessed many sides of the man before him in a single night, realized that his dark captor meant no harm. "If I were to promise to return, will you let me go?"

The Phantom looked up at Harry, his black eyes seeming to trap Harry in a gaze that could betray his thoughts. Harry felt his breath stick in his throat as the Ghost continued to watch him, searching for any signs of lies. Harry finally broke eye contact, and the man sighed in distress.

"How can I believe you when you can't even look me in the face? If I let you go, you will run away from here and leave me all alone!"

Harry swallowed the uncomforting thoughts and knelt down beside him, taking the dark man's gloved hands in his own. "I promise that I will come to see you." To prove his point, Harry lightly touched the Phantom's cheek, which was almost nearly covered by his flawless mask. "I admit I was startled at first. But I will not run away. If you see me shiver, it will not be from fear, but from being in the presence of your musical genius."

The man met his eyes again, and this time Harry didn't look away. "All right," he said, sounding relieved by Harry's promise. "But before you return to the world above, I have something I want to give to you."

Jumping up from the ground, the dark man raced over to his organ and picked up a small, ornate box. He turned towards Harry, beckoning him to approach. Careful not to trip on his now dusty dress, Harry walked over to him. He opened the box, and Harry looked at him questioningly. Inside the antique box was a simple gold band.

"I don't understand," Harry stated, puzzled.

"To show me that you promise to return to see me, you must wear this. As long as it is on your finger, I know you are honoring your promise and you will be safe from harm." He took the ring out of the box and grasped Harry's left hand, pausing for a moment. "But if you take it off, I cannot protect you from the wrath of Hell." Harry couldn't tell if this was a threat, or a warning. He felt the cool metal slip onto his finger, and then the icy kiss of the Phantom's lips over his ringed finger.

And that was all Harry could remember. He looked around, noticing that the flowers from his performance were gone. Perhaps Hermione and Ron had moved them. Or Pansy had returned to steal what she though should have been hers.

The Phantom had kept his promise of returning Harry above ground. He stood up, his stomach growling with hunger. He took a step and realized that his wig was on the floor. Picking it up, he walked over to the vanity to try to pin it back up.

There was a knock at the door that sent Harry's heart up to his throat. He forced it back down before he answered, "Yes?" The door opened and he was relieved to see the familiar face of his dance instructor and her daughter. "Hermione!" he sighed.

Hermione rushed over to him, hugging him with as much strength as she could muster. "Where have you been?" she demanded, although not letting go of him.

"I…" Harry started, and then paused. How could he tell anyone about this? They were most certain not to believe him. And if they did, they wouldn't let him return, and it would cause Harry to break his promise.

McGonagall shut the door before approaching. She walked over to the couch where Harry had found himself when he awoke. She leaned over, picking up a sealed envelope, trimmed in black. Harry wondered how he had missed it.

"There's no need to explain," McGonagall said, opening the envelope. She skimmed it, and then tucked it into her dress pocket. "The Phantom has his ways. We shall not intervene. Come, Hermione," she beckoned. Hermione lingered for a moment beside Harry, and then approached her mother.

"Harry, you'll need to change. If you go to Hermione's dressing room, you'll find more than enough clothes."

They started to leave, and Harry jumped up to catch them. "Wait!" They both looked at him, and Harry suddenly felt nervous. "I need some help getting into the dress."

Hermione giggled, touching his arm sympathetically. "I'm sure mother will let me come help you."

"Certainly, but first we have to see the managers. Harry, you wait for us in her room."

Harry waited a little before shutting Pansy's dressing room door behind himself. The halls of the dressing rooms were empty, which meant that everyone was either at rehearsal or eating. Harry was relieved that there was no one around, since his reflection in the mirror was somewhat betraying of his identity. He paused for a moment when he heard a commotion behind him. Turning on his heels, he saw Pansy Parkinson herself come raging down the hall. She was followed by the new managers, who were followed by a group of people, including McGonagall, Hermione, Ron, and Draco Malfoy.

Thinking fast, Harry ducked down another passage, waiting to see where they planned to go. He heard the door to Pansy's dressing room open, and then their footsteps racing back towards the grand entryway. Checking to see if the coast was clear, he hurried down the corridor to Hermione's room, turning the corner and finding himself face to face with Draco Malfoy.

"Explain!" the blonde demanded, waving a piece of paper in Harry's face.

"Explain what?" Harry retorted, pushing it away. "You're the one who invaded my dressing room."

Draco's face was suddenly red; whether it was from anger or embarrassment, Harry wasn't sure. "Not that, you freak! This letter! You sent it, I know it."

Harry snatched the paper from Draco. "I didn't send you any letter. Why would I?" He read the letter, looking at Malfoy questioningly. "Why do you think I would send it?"

"Cause you're the only one who knows I know who you are," he replied shortly, clearly humiliated.

Harry looked at him, puzzled. "I don't even know what you just said!"

Draco snatched the letter back away from Harry angrily. It was with this motion that he noticed the ring on Harry's hand. "Did you run off and get married?" he asked, his angry tone starting to change to taunting.

Harry grew pale. "No!" Thinking quickly, he continued, "Mister Lupin told me last night to wear one to ward off any _perverts_ who might try to make a pass at me." He glared at Draco.

"Told you last night?" Draco asked. "Nobody's seen you in five days!"

Harry's jaw dropped instantly. How could he have been gone for five days? "I meant the night of the performance." Turning to get away before he found himself trapped in a conversation he didn't want to have, Harry started to run down the hall. He didn't get very far because Draco took a few strides as well and grabbed Harry's arm tightly. "Let go of me!"

"Not until I know why I got this discriminating letter!" Draco demanded, waving the crumpled paper once more in Harry's direction.

Harry sighed agitatedly. "If you really want to know, go ask the Opera Ghost." He tried to wiggle out of Draco's grasp but it was too tight. "The only one who would have seen us together the night of the performance would have to be a ghost."

Draco growled, tightening his hold and making Harry wince. "You are still a freak, aren't you? Masquerading as a woman and believing in fantasy. Did your father raise you to be a woman?"

Harry scowled at his childhood nemesis. "I'd rather be a woman than a coward like you!"

Draco's eyes widened in confusion. "What do you mean by that?"

"I still see you're doing everything your father tells you to do," Harry replied, finally pulling his arm free. "For once, I'd like to see you do something that's your own decision."

Harry waited to see if Draco would retort, but he only stood there, glaring at Harry. Shaking his head, Harry turned once more and ran off for Hermione's dressing room. He didn't hear any footsteps following him, and decided that Draco must have given up for the time being.

Harry shut the door behind him, remembering to leave it unlocked so Hermione could help him. He opened the doors of her cabinet, sighing as he eyed her dresses. He had no idea what to pick. He would never take for granted all the trouble women went through to look lovely for men after this whole ordeal. Squeezing into dresses and walking in thin heeled shoes was rather painful after wearing them for awhile.

The door opened and closed quickly as Hermione slipped in. She smiled at a rather overwhelmed looking Harry. "Having trouble deciding?" she teased, walking over to him. "Don't worry; it looks like you won't have to be 'Harrietta' much longer. Pansy's back to claim her roles. She's terribly jealous of you." Looking in her bureau, she pulled out a forest green dress with black trim. "This will look good on you."

"Hermione," Harry said, grabbing her hand, "am I turning into a woman?"

Hermione let out an amused sort of laugh. "Heavens, no! I don't think so… Why do you ask?"

Harry sighed, sitting down in her vanity chair and looking at his reflection. "I don't know," he replied, pulling his wig off. "I don't know anymore." He dropped his head onto the table, thinking that maybe a good knock to his noggin would help to make things make sense. "What did you just say?" Harry asked, looking up at Hermione's reflection as he finally processed what his friend had said.

"This will look good on you?" she repeated, holding up the dress again.

Harry shook his head, sitting up and turning around. "No, not that. About Pansy."

"Oh! She came in today, upset about a letter the Phantom sent her."

"She received a note, too?" Harry questioned, thinking of the one Draco had accused him of writing.

"So did Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin. Mother gave them the note that was in Pansy's room with you when we found you earlier." She pointed towards the dress, hinting that he needed to change.

Harry stood up, approaching Hermione and turning his back towards her. As her fingers began to undo the buttons that lined his back, Harry continued to ask her questions. "Was it from the Phantom as well?"

"Yes. He wants you to play the lead in _Il Moto_, but the managers won't listen. They're begging her to continue as the star." Hermione untied the strings of his corset, and Harry felt like he was taking a deep breath for the first time in ages. "Go behind the screen and finish changing," Hermione said, and as Harry turned around, he noticed her cheeks were pink.

"What do you think Ron would say if he caught you undressing me?" he teased, stepping behind the screen and pushing the dress off of him.

"He'd probably babble in shock and confusion and then turn red," Hermione replied, unbuttoning her green dress for Harry.

"How much redder can he get?" Harry laughed, waiting for Hermione to hand him his change of clothes.

"Harry, can I ask you something?" Hermione asked after a long pause.

Harry peaked around the screen, spying a rather worried looking Hermione. "Yes?"

"Where does that tunnel behind the mirror lead to?" She asked this in almost a whisper, her eyes looking around as if she was afraid of being overheard.

Harry swallowed another nervous knot in his throat. "How did you know about that?" he whispered back.

Hermione came closer to him, standing on the other side of the screen. "Ron and I went to check on you the night you disappeared, and we found the mirror was slightly opened. We found a tunnel behind it, but Mother found us before we could venture further."

Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. What would have happened if McGonagall hadn't stopped them? Would the Phantom have discovered them and let them free as he had done with Harry? "You don't want to know, Hermione."

Her eyes widened, whether from awe or fear. "It leads to the Phantom, doesn't it?" she asked him.

"Promise me you won't try to go there again," Harry said sternly, taking the dress from Hermione's hand and ducking back behind the screen.

"What happened to you down there, Harry?" Hermione asked, sounding concerned. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," Harry replied, slipping the dress over his head. "At least, I don't think so. Was I really gone for five days?"

"Yes!" Hermione gasped. "We were all worried sick for you. Did you not know it had been that long?"

Harry pulled the rest of the dress down and stepped out so Hermione could button it up. "It only felt like a night for me."

Hermione shrugged as she set to work fastening her dress on Harry, first tightening the corset once more. "Pansy is saying that you and Count Malfoy are lovers," she said casually, shocking Harry. He forgot to exhale while Hermione tightened the strings and he gasped for air. "Sorry!"

Harry coughed as she loosened his corset. "What makes her think that!"

Hermione laughed. "Many things. One prominent reason is because several people saw him follow you into Pansy's dressing room."

"Nothing happened," Harry interrupted forcefully.

"Don't worry, I believe you," Hermione smiled, finishing his buttons. "But if you don't want the rumors to spread more than they already have, you might want to take your wedding band off."

Harry looked down at the Phantom's ring, realizing how noticeable it was. "I can't," he sighed. "And don't ask: it's too complicated to explain."

Hermione patted his shoulder sympathetically. "As a friend, I'll respect your wish. But just remember that I'm always here to listen."

As Harry sat down at the vanity table once more to have his wig fixed on properly, Hermione filled him in on what had happened while he was gone. Apparently the newspaper reporters had arrived the morning after Harry's debut, but instead of interviewing the new diva, they wrote about Miss Porter's disappearance and why she had played the lead instead of Miss Parkinson. Mrs. Weasley, fearing that the Phantom was angry about his box seat being given to Count Malfoy, had abducted Harry for revenge. She called on her only daughter, Ginny, who was married to the son of the chief of police. Ginny had convinced her husband to talk to his father to see what he could do. But the managers had insisted that Miss Porter was just at home resting after her overwhelming debut. They didn't want the police around Hogwarts for fear that it would be bad for business.

As Harry turned around in the chair so that Hermione could redo his makeup, she continued to tell him what was going on. Dreamy Luna was convinced that the Angel of Music had been visiting Harry and that was why he could sing like he had. When Harry questioned about this angel, Hermione gave a brief explanation: "It's similar to a fairy tale, really. At least that's how Luna describes it. The Angel of Music blesses individuals he sees fit with talent that's unearthly." So far this seemed like the best explanation of what was happening. Harry briefly recalled the Phantom referring to himself as the Angel of Music. But this couldn't be, because he was a man beneath that ghostly disguise.

"Fred and George are saying nonsense," Hermione sighed, finishing her task. "They say you've run off with some man who's convinced you're a woman and then when he discovered your identity, he killed you."

Harry had to laugh at this. "What makes them think I would allow myself to be swept away by some man?" He stopped, suddenly realizing that was what had happened. Not only that, but the man had confessed his love to Harry. It was this love that had given Harry a second chance. But why?

"Excuse me, Hermione, but I need to see to something," he said, giving her a thankful kiss on her forehead.

"Harry, where are you going?" she called as Harry walked to the door.

"To get some questions answered."

* * *

Draco was shocked. How dare that freak speak to him like that! And yet, Draco hated to admit, he was right. Leaning against the nearby wall, he ran his hands through his hair in a frustrated manner. He never thought that all his life he was acting in fear of his father. Was he really a coward? He tried to think of something he had done under his own influence, but all he could come up with was wild nights that were spent to avoid going home to his father's house.

Growling at himself, he kicked the wall and straightened up, deciding to prove Harry wrong. The question was how. Before he could think of any answers, he heard footsteps coming towards him. With a quick glance around the corner, he saw none other than the young man who was haunting his thoughts at the moment. He turned around, ducking into the first room he came upon. He noticed right away that it was Pansy's dressing room. Draco listened and was surprised to hear the door handle click as it slowly opened. Thinking fast, he hid behind the screen, careful not to knock it over this time.

Watching from between the cracks of the frame, Draco saw Harry cautiously enter the room, as if checking to see if it were empty. Seeming satisfied, Harry shut the door behind him. The only sound in the room was the rustling of Harry's green dress and his breathing, as if he were scared yet excited. Draco wondered what he was spying on when Harry approached the giant mirror that hung on the wall. Harry felt all around the golden frame, his emerald eyes searching for something that Draco knew nothing of.

As Draco was starting to think that perhaps Harry was becoming vein as well as feminine, a dark voice filled the room. It was a sound that startled Draco, nearly sending him backwards into the bureau. Instead he fell to the floor, his commotion silenced by the mysterious voice.

"You wish to see your Angel of Music?" the rich voice called out, and even Draco shivered, whether from fear or excitement, he did not know.

"Yes," Harry breathed, his palms pressing against the mirror. "I want to know why…why you picked me."

"Then you shall know, my love," came the voice again, and Draco's eyes widened in shock. For what he saw stunned him so that he couldn't move until it was too late.

Harry stepped even closer to the mirror, his hands falling down to his side. Then suddenly, from the glass itself it seemed to Draco, a gloved hand reached out and stroked Harry's blushed cheek. It trailed down towards Harry's hand, grasping it gently and leading him forward. Draco had expected Harry to hit his face on the mirror, but instead he stepped into it and disappeared from the room.

When Draco found enough courage to move, he dashed around the screen and saw nothing but his own reflection in the mirror. He approached it as Harry had done, feeling along all the seams and the cold glass beneath his fingertips, only to find nothing strange at all.

"Potter?" he whispered, looking around the room. He looked back at the mirror, but he didn't know what to expect. "Harry?" he called louder this time.

His only reply was a giggle. Draco turned around once more, angry that someone would laugh at him. But there was no one there. Then the giggle came again. It was then that Draco realized that it came from above. He looked up at the mirror, falling backwards in horror. There, from the wall, was the head and bodice of a pasty colored girl. She was smiling down at him, amused by something. As Draco tried to crawl away, not turning his back to the strange being above him, she moved towards him, the rest of her ethereal body appearing through the wall.

"Are-are you the Opera Ghost everyone is talking about?" Draco demanded, shaking with fear.

The girl giggled again, shaking her head. "I am Myrtle, a ghost in the opera house, but not the one you're asking about." She paused for a moment, looking back at the mirror. "No, the Phantom is only called that because he pretends to be one of us so that he can do what he wishes." She hovered down, resting beside Draco. He tried to move away, but he found himself trapped against the door. She looked at him the same way the dancing girls looked at rich patrons. "What do you want with him, anyways?"

"It's not him I'm interested in," Draco grumbled, wondering how he could escape. "I'm trying to find Harry Potter."

"He is a catch, isn't he," she sighed, leaning on Draco's shoulder. The cold feeling, whether it was physical or spiritual, made Draco jump in shock. "So it's him you're interested in?"

"No!" Draco retorted. "I only want to know where he went to."

"You don't want to go there," she said gravely, her eyes filled with dread. "Especially uninvited. Even we ghosts stay clear of the Phantom."

Draco couldn't help but smirk at her. "You're spooked by your own kind?"

The ghost frowned at him. "He is not one of us! He is a man. But a powerful man, and so we stay clear. He can't hurt us, but I don't like him."

"Well, then you know where I can find him."

"Yes, but I'm not telling you," she pouted, floating back up to the ceiling to look down at him. "You'll only meet your death there, and what a shameful waste it would be."

Draco stood up, straightening his waistcoat. "Thank you for your concern, but as a patron of this Opera house, I feel it is my duty to try to find Harry Potter. He's one of our leading stars."

She looked at him in a rather curious way, as if trying to read his thoughts. "I see," she said in a know-it-all sort of voice. "Well, don't worry. Your 'star', as you refer to him, will return on his own. Young Harry is the first to earn the trust of the Phantom, so he is free to come and go as long as he doesn't betray him."

Little did they know that this moment would come all too soon.

* * *

A/N

Ah, I love writing this story. I like watching my friends read it and go "Give me more!"

Well, I'm having a flood of inspiration, so Ch.5 should be out farely soon, so long as my computer lasts. I'm still having problems with it logging onto the internet (we have DSL, so it's my comp that's got a problem) and my husband keeps stealing my comp to fix it.

About Myrtle: Yes, I know there's no real ghosts in the musical, but even in reality, people believe that their are "souls" that wander the old Opera House. But keep in mind, they're not in France: they're at Hogwarts, just in an alternate universe, so there's still ghosts. And yes, we'll be seeing more of Myrtle, although she won't be so moany...she'll be more giddy and flirty like the bathroom scene in GoF. (heehee)


	5. Chapter 5

_**I'll Drink Your Deadly Poison**_

_**Chapter 5**_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter characters or the Phantom of the Opera. If I did, you would know my name and I wouldn't have debts. :D_

Just as Harry had mysteriously appeared in Pansy's room, he found himself lying once more on the black satin that covered the Phantom's lonely bed. Harry tried to recall how exactly he came to be here again, but all he could remember was stepping through the false mirror. It was just as the mirror closed behind him that he heard someone calling out his name, and when he turned to look who it was, the world around him turned black. Rubbing at his eyes as he sat up, Harry looked around to see where the Phantom was. He thought that perhaps he would be playing the old organ again, but the air of the chamber was silent, except for the footsteps that were falling closer to him.

His masked face appeared behind the sheer curtain that was drawn around the bed, and he pulled it back as he sat down next to Harry. In his gloved hand was a silver goblet, and Harry could hear the sound of a liquid sloshing around inside of it. "Sit up and drink this," the dark man said, gesturing for Harry to take the cup. "It will help you feel better."

Harry gratefully took the offer, his throat feeling rather dry. He wondered how long he had been sleeping in order to feel so parched. The liquid felt cool to his lips, and it soothed the ache in the back of his throat. The taste was far better than any wine he had drank, and Harry greedily gulped it down. Handing the empty goblet back to the Phantom, Harry noticed that he suddenly felt refreshed.

"What was it you wanted to know, my dear?" the Phantom asked, setting the glass down on the bedside table.

"Well, there are so many things I want to know," Harry replied, sitting up a little more so that he could better look in the Phantom's eyes. He noticed that they seemed to tear after he spoke. "What's the matter?"

"No," the Phantom replied. "I am touched that you want to know about me. Now, ask your first question."

"Well, it would make talking to you much easier if I knew your name," Harry stated.

"My name?" he responded, seeming shocked that Harry would ask.

"Yes. You are a man, aren't you? And every man has a name."

"Yes, I am a man," he replied, "and so I am the son of a man." Harry noticed the spite that dripped from his tone as he spoke and wondered if he shouldn't have asked. "It was my father who named me, and I have tried to forget everything about that life."

"What happened?" Harry asked without thinking through it first. His words seemed to sting because he saw him flinch. "I'm sorry," Harry whispered.

"No, perhaps you should know what happened to me. I want you to know." He touched his mask, hesitating for a moment before pulling it away from his face.

Harry breathed in sharply as he resisted the urge to turn away. It wasn't the scars that littered his entire face that bothered him; everyone had scars of some form or another, signs of trials that came with age. No, Harry wasn't bothered the least bit by them. Had the Phantom only been hiding those flawed lines under the mask, Harry would have laughed at such nonsense. What pained him was the right side of the man's face, which he could only determine as being badly burned and never treated properly. It had healed in a way that had left the side of his face almost unrecognizable. What was once a cheek was now a bony pit of white flesh. His ear was almost gone, perhaps burned off by whatever had blemished his once seemingly handsome face. His right eye was the only thing that seemed to survive whatever tragedy had caused his deformity.

"D-did he…" Harry whispered, starting to feel empathy for the broken man before him, "did your father…" Harry wanted to touch his face, to show that he could be brave, but he couldn't muster enough strength to do so.

"The man I called father was by name only," he spat, his eyes flashing with anger, yet seemingly pained by some sadness in the fact. "A bastard's child, he called me. And so he saw fit to punish me, since my mother had died. She felt so guilty for what she had done, and feared her husband, so she ended her life before I could even remember what she looked like."

Harry could feel a knot forming in his throat as his sympathy grew for the poor creature in front of him. "Is that why you're hiding here? From your father?"

There was a sudden gleam in his dark eyes that almost frightened Harry. He would not know until later what that look meant, for it would not be the last time he would see it. "There is no need for me to hide from my father. He is no more than a distant memory, a nightmare that is no longer recurring."

"What happened to him?" Harry inquired out of sheer curiosity.

"He no longer breathes the air he was unworthy of." A dark smile appeared on his pale lips, sending shivers up Harry's spine.

"Then why are you living in the dungeons of an opera house?" Harry finally asked, hoping to rid the atmosphere of the uneasiness he felt.

"Because the world does not wish to see my hideous face," he growled, replacing the mask over his wounded flesh. "To be called a monster, judged by my appearance and not for my genius, no man wants that," he continued, rubbing at his temples as if in pain. "Here, I can hide from the humanity that has been so cruel to me. Here," he said, holding out his arms in a majestic way, "here I am free to be who I want to be, without the persecution of others."

Harry stared wide eyed at the man before him. His head seemed to be spinning as he was drinking in the emotions that this secretive man was sharing with him. "Then why let me come here?" Harry asked, finally voicing the thought that most tortured him.

"Why me?"

"My love," he whispered in reply, touching Harry's cheek. _"Shamed into solitude._

_Shunned by the multitude. I learned to listen. In the dark my heart heard music." _Harry's head began to feel light at the sound of the Phantom's melodic voice. It was a sad sort of lullaby, it seemed, yet Harry wanted to hear more.

"_I longed to teach the world, rise up and reach the world. No one would listen. I alone could hear the music. Then at last a voice in the gloom seemed to cry, 'I hear you. I heed your fears, your torment and your tears. You saw my loneliness. Shared in my emptiness. No one would listen. No one but you heard as the outcast hears. No one would listen. No one but you heard as the outcast hears."_

Harry couldn't fight back the tear that slipped down his cheek. He didn't care that the makeup Hermione had carefully applied would smear. He was finally beginning to understand why the Phantom was in love with him: he was lonely. Was it because he himself was beginning to feel the same loneliness, now that his friends were moving on in their lives?

His gloved hand was still stroking Harry's cheek, no doubt wiping it dry. "Tell me your name, please," Harry begged as the Phantom's cold lips drew close to his.

"Severus."

* * *

Draco was starting to grow rather bored sitting in the overly pink dressing room of an overrated diva. Of course, one might ask how sitting in this room with a ghost hovering around him would cause the young Malfoy to have an idle mind. The only thing keeping Draco from leaving the room was the fact that Potter had disappeared behind it. Draco had neglected to look at the giant grandfather clock, but it had seemed forever with the girly ghoul blabbering on.

"I used to play in this room when my auntie was the lead soprano. Of course, it used to be blue, not pink." Myrtle floated down to his side, sighing when he wouldn't acknowledge her. "Why are you so interested in him?" she giggled, her eyes sparkling with a teasing glance.

"I already answered that," Draco replied, growing agitated. He lowered his face to inspect his right cufflink, but this act of hiding his embarrassment didn't fool the ghost.

"Yes, I know he's an important…asset…to the theatre. But you can't expect me to believe that a pampered noble like yourself who yawned his way through most of the opera is truly interested in an actor for politics' sake?"

"How did you know I was yawning?" Draco asked, hoping she would forget her question.

"I'm a ghost. I see many things that people aren't aware of." She batted her eyes at him as if she were trying to be sultry, and nudged his shoulder with her own. "I couldn't resist watching you, looking all comfortable and bored. But then you lit up like a jar full of lightning bugs when Harry appeared on stage." She gave him that mischievous grin again, and he knew she wouldn't forget so easily.

Before the topic could persist, the sound of footsteps in the hallway diverted both of their attentions, and Draco rushed to hide behind the screen once more. Myrtle, however, being a ghost, floated quickly to the wall and passed through it.

Draco expected the dressing room door to open, but instead it was the trick mirror that slid open, Potter carefully stepping out from behind the secret doorway in the wall. Turning his head in a cautious manner, his faux curls brushing against his pale cheeks as he made sure no one was there, he closed the mirror, sealing his secret behind him.

"Where have you been?" Draco hissed, stepping out from his hiding place as Potter made to leave the room.

Harry jumped, startled by Malfoy's sudden appearance. "Me? What are you doing here? Don't tell me you've taken to spying on me."

Draco could feel the blood rushing to his face, although not quite sure whether it was due to anger or embarrassment. "Believe me; it is only for the pure interest of the theatre. I can't have one of our cast members disappearing at random."

Harry eyed him sternly, not believing him. "It seems to me that you have more interest in me than in Miss Parkinson. Otherwise you would have gone spying on her when she wouldn't show up for her performance."

Draco scrunched his nose, as if the thought of lying in wait for Pansy was a rotten thought. "Why would I be interested in her? She's a spoiled diva who thinks of nothing but her own benefit."

"Then you two should have a lot in common."

Potter's reply stung him, and Draco found himself in loss of words once more. Harry stood there a moment, waiting for a retort, but none came. Taking this moment of silence as his chance to leave, Harry stepped towards the door.

"Wait," Draco finally spoke, grabbing hold of Harry's wrist. Through the sheer fabric, he could feel Harry's pulse beat faster. He opened his mouth, wanting to ask why he was so confused by Potter's boldness, but the words wouldn't seem to form.

"Will you kindly let go of me?" Harry asked, trying to pull his arm away. The look in Malfoy's face was starting to worry him. Even though his grasp on his wrist was gentle, it felt as though he was holding him with more than just physical strength.

It was that moment that the door swung open, and a high pitched shriek filled the room. Pansy Parkinson stood flabbergasted, staring at the two of them. "What are you doing in my room!" she screeched. She pointed to their hands, and she suddenly looked as if she had eaten a disgusting bug. "Get out! Get out!"

Harry quickly pulled away, careful not to brush against Pansy. He didn't have to worry, since she stepped back as he passed. She turned to Draco, trying to compose herself once more. "Why are you bothering yourself with a common dancer such as her?" she cooed, approaching Draco.

Draco's eyebrows lifted slightly, amused by the fact that Pansy was not aware her nemesis was a man. "Vain women who throw themselves on men with such ease don't do a thing for me," he smiled, stepping past her. He swore he could hear her jaw drop as she gasped. Her silence didn't last long: as he closed the door behind him, Draco could here her screaming in perfect pitch.

* * *

The rehearsals for _Il Muto_ were more than awkward. Harry was only slightly relieved that his role didn't have a speaking part, which made it easier to avoid Miss Parkinson. She seemed more frantic than usual. Everybody seemed to be aware of her sudden edginess. Even Black and Remus seemed to be choosing their words wisely when they addressed her.

During rehearsals, Harry couldn't help but feel that lingering eyes were watching him. At first, he would ignore the diamonds that gazed down from the box seat where Malfoy observed the endless hours of practice. But after a few days, Draco's constant presence and watchful stare started to unnerve him. And he wasn't the only one who noticed the blonde's actions.

"Well, well," Fred said in a tone that was promising a taunt. "Looks like young 'Miss Porter' has an admirer."

George appeared by his brother's side, smirking and nodding his head in approval. "Yes, so it seems. I'd expect a proposal any day now."

"Won't he be shocked to find out what's really under those petticoats," Fred snickered, trying to pull on Harry's dress.

"Stop it, you two!" Harry sneered, tugging away from the twins' touch. He was having enough of a time trying to avoid Malfoy and knowing that Severus was always nearby. The twins' teasing was the last thing he wanted.

Harry wasn't the only one in an awkward situation. The two new managers were having problems of their own, and it didn't have anything to do with angry divas. When they had spoke to Mrs. Weasley about whom this alleged Phantom was that was claiming one of the best boxes, she seemed to raise more questions than answers.

"No one has ever seen him in it, but he does use it, sirs."

Black frowned at the plump woman. "If he's never seen in it, then how can he be using it?"

Mrs. Weasley smiled boldly in reply to his sour expression. "He's a ghost: just because we can't see him there when we look, he's still there."

Sirius looked over at his partner, as if to tell him without words that this woman was insane.

Remus ignored the expression on Black's face, choosing this time to speak. "What proof do you have that there is a ghost using Box 4?"

She turned in her seat, looking about the office as if to ensure no one else was in the room. "He left me a note one night after a performance." She reached into her pocket, pulling out a worn piece of parchment. She unfolded it, treating the paper as if it were a precious heirloom. "He told me that if I did was he asked, he would help arrange my daughter to be wed into a wealthy name."

"And did you take his request?" Black inquired.

"Apparently you didn't know that my daughter, Ginny, is married to the son of the Chief of Police."

Sirius swallowed his words, coughing to signal a change of subject. "What does he ask of you, my dear woman?"

"To leave his salary on the seat in the box, and any other little things he may ask for. And before you ask, no, I never see him."

"Then how do you know he comes to retrieve his payment?" Black asked, starting to sound confident again.

"At the end of each performance, he will leave some token of his gratitude behind. It varies every time, so I cannot give you a definite answer. But he always left behind Mister Fudge's envelope when he paid him his salary."

After hearing enough of Mrs. Weasley's stories, Black was even more doubtful of this supposed phantom. Shutting the door and locking it, he walked over to Remus, whispering to him. "How do we know that this woman isn't taking the money for herself and claiming that the Phantom took it?"

"It's possible," Remus replied, leaning against the desk, careful not to disturb the piles of paperwork. "But how could we be sure? Everyone around here is convinced that this ghost exists, so they'll back her up if we confront her."

Sirius scratched at his shaggy hair, sitting down in the chair across from his partner. "We could keep the money in the lock drawer, and put false paper in the envelope. Then we'll seal it. If the woman is stealing it, then we'll know."

"Your reasoning is a little off, but the idea does sound good. We'll just have to wait and see what kind of reaction we'll receive."

So one night, during an orchestra concert at the theatre, Black and Lupin took the ₤20,000 and locked it in the desk drawer, placing the key in Sirius' pants pocket. Then they sealed enough paper inside an envelope to make it appear that the money was indeed inside.

Mrs. Weasley smiled as she took the envelope and climbed the stairs to the box seats. The pair followed quietly behind her, watching her enter the fateful box. When she reappeared through the curtains, pulling them shut, they slipped into the empty box next to it, closing the curtains behind them.

They peered over the edge down into the box, clearly able to see the envelope in the red cushioned seat. The performance started soon after they sat in their seats, but they hardly paid any attention to the performers on stage. The orchestra played for more than an hour, and when they took their final bows, the managers were slightly discouraged. Nobody had entered the box once, and the envelope was still sitting where Mrs. Weasley had left it.

As they stood up, the old woman appeared through the curtains, and her smile faded when she saw that the envelope was still there. Sirius expected her to pocket the money, but she looked around in fear. Picking up the envelope, she hurried out.

They had to excuse themselves from patrons who tried to stop them for a chat in order to catch up with Mrs. Weasley. She was waiting outside of their office, her face whiter than the marble floor.

"Good sirs! I don't know what happened. He didn't take the money."

Sirius tried to hide his smirk. He wanted to say, "Of course he didn't, because he doesn't exist." Instead, he asked, "Why do you think that, madam?"

She beckoned them closer, as if she didn't want anyone else to hear. "He whispered to me. He said he was angry with you, because you were trying to trick him."

Remus looked over at Sirius, not sure how to reply to this. Sirius rolled his eyes, taking the envelope from her shaking hands. "My dear woman, I assure you we have done no such thing. We'll try to pay him again tomorrow night."

Mrs. Weasley seemed to take flight, as if running for fear of avoiding the wrath of the Phantom. Sirius unlocked their office door, tucking the key back in his coat pocket.

"Well, she didn't take the money like you expected," Remus said, plopping down in the chair in front of the desk. "But what bothers me is if she is pulling us into another trick, or is there really a phantom?"

"Remus, there are no such things as ghosts," Sirius replied, pulling the drawer key out of his pocket. "That was proved tonight. Most likely she saw us in the next box and put on that show for us." He pulled the drawer open, looking down to grab the money.

"Sirius, do you feel ill?" Remus asked, leaning forward in his chair with concern for his friend.

Sirius couldn't speak, but he pulled out a parchment from the drawer. Remus quickly snatched it from him, eagerly reading it:

"_Good sirs, I shall let you off easily this time. I understand your need for proof that I am who I say I am. Your penalty for trying to cheat me of my salary will be to pay me double, for I am wounded by your doubting. _

_Sincerely yours, PTO_

"The money is gone, Remus," Sirius finally spoke.

"Could someone have taken it out of your pocket?" Remus suggested, crumpling the note. "I've heard that Mrs. Weasley's sons are famous for their swift hand movements."

"I don't think so, but then again, if they were excellent pickpockets, I wouldn't feel it." Sirius grabbed his head, rubbing at his temples.

"Why don't we try this again, but this time we'll pin the key to your pocket. That way if anyone tries to take it, you'll feel it."

They agreed on this after much debate on whose pocket it should be pinned to. Remus finally won the argument, and Sirius once again hid the key in his pocket, pinning it to the inside so that if it was pulled, he would feel a prick in his leg.

After giving Mrs. Weasley the false envelope and slipping once more into the empty box, they watched the seat like a hawk eyeing its prey. The concert ended, and Mrs. Weasley again found the envelope still sitting there. She seemed to pause for a moment, and then suddenly looked up to their box.

"You have angered the Phantom," she said in a stern tone, her face pale once more. She left the box, meeting them on the stairs. "He told me you think I've been stealing the money, along with my children. You'll find you are wrong, gentlemen." Thrusting the unopened envelope into Black's hands, she turned sharply and huffed, finding her way backstage.

Sirius and Remus walked back to their office, completely ignoring any talk thrown their way. They were both thinking to themselves how she could accuse them of saying something no one had been around to hear.

Unlocking the office door and going straight to the desk, Sirius pulled out his pocket. He flinched, the pin poking his leg. "The key is still here," he said, although he hadn't needed to. Slowly unlocking the drawer, he pulled it open.

The money was gone, and another note had been left in its place. But this one was not so forgiving:

_Gentlemen, I shall give you one last chance. You will leave my salary with Mrs. Weasley to place in Box 4. Tomorrow night, at the production of Il Muto, Harrietta Porter will be the lead, and Pansy Parkinson will play the silent role. If you do not do as I ask, the events that will happen tomorrow night will be on your head._

_PTO_

"How dare he!" Sirius roared, slamming the drawer shut. He crumpled the letter, throwing it in the waste bin. "If he thinks he can order us around, then he has another thing coming. What exactly are we paying him a salary for?"

Remus was trying to quiet his companion down, holding his finger to his lips.

"Don't 'shush' me, Remus! This is ridiculous. I refuse to obey the demands of a supposed ghost. Parkinson will be the lead, and Potter should be grateful that he even has a role."

Remus sighed, knowing well that there was no chance of convincing the raging man of doing otherwise.

* * *

Harry was in Hermione's dressing room while she added the final touches to his make up. He was a little happier to be wearing pants for tonight's performance, since the last few days he had been forced to stay in his female façade. Because of this false appearance, however, he had to wear a high colored shirt to hide his neck so that those who still believed he was Miss Porter would not be led to think otherwise.

"Let me see if I understand this correctly," Harry said, closing his eyes while Hermione painted them with a soft brush he had grown to like the feeling of. "I'm a man pretending to be a woman who is playing a man disguising himself as a maid?"

"Right. You should have no trouble, then," Ron chuckled from his seat across the room.

"At least I make a better looking woman than you would," Harry smiled.

"The pleasure is all yours, mate."

There was a knock at the door before it opened, revealing Madame McGonagall. "Are you ready?"

"Do you think the performance will go smoothly, Mother?" Hermione asked, putting away her brushes. "There have been several rumors that the Phantom has planned something terrible."

She patted her daughter's head lovingly. "You three have done nothing to upset him, so you do not have to fear his wrath."

Harry rubbed his thumb against the ring around his finger, remembering Severus' promise.

The opera started off smoothly, but the managers still seemed to be nervous. Sirius tried to hide it, but Remus could tell that he was far more worried than himself. They sat in Box 1, across from the Phantom's claimed box. They nodded across the way to Draco Malfoy, who was seated in Box 4, where he could see if anyone entered at all. The envelope was in the seat next to him, filled once again with blank papers. They hadn't told him about this, but Draco sensed that something was up.

Draco knew that Pansy was flaunting her role by her body movements, as if taunting Harry. But Draco smiled at Harry's cool composure, which seemed to fuel Pansy's attitude.

_"Poor fool, he makes me laugh. Hahahahaha! If he knew the truth he'd never ever go!"_

_"Poor fool, he doesn't know! Hohohohoho!"_

"Did I not say that Box 4 was to be kept empty?"

The voice rang throughout the opera house, stopping everything. The musicians looked up in confusion, knowing that was not part of the song. The audience looked around in awe at such a loud, strong tone that seemed to come from nowhere. The cast on stage looked around as well, while the stagehands stepped up to the curtains to peek as much as they could without being seen.

Harry looked up into the audience, up towards the painted ceiling. It had sounded as if one of the cherubs had spoken, but he knew that voice all too well now to have any doubts. "The Phantom of the Opera…"

"You're part is silent, little toad!" Pansy spat, slapping him with her fan. Her face suddenly turned red and she giggled nervously, flashing the audience an embarrassed smile. "Once more, Dumbledore?" she asked, looking down at the conductor. He flipped back a page, as did the musicians.

_"Poor fool, he makes me laugh! Hahahahaha—_Ack!"

The audience gasped in shock as Pansy slapped her hands over her mouth. A roar of laughter broke out, and Pansy turned red with anger. She opened her mouth to continue singing, but instead she felt something in her throat.

Harry watched as her face turned from a bright red to a ghostly white as she started to gasp for air. The other actors looked panicked, and as one of them approached her to help, Pansy opened her mouth wide and a giant toad came hopping out.

There was a great deal of shrieking and laugher as the stage suddenly became overwhelmed by mayhem. Pansy was screaming and then suddenly coughed up another toad. Fred and George in a fit of laughter hurried out on stage to catch the slimy reptiles before they could hop into the orchestra pit.

Black and Lupin had hurried down to the backstage entrance, demanding the curtains be pulled closed. Draco had joined them, taking a little longer to get around to the other side.

Sirius stepped out on to the stage first, followed quickly by Remus. "Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for this interruption." He looked around, as if trying to find a quick escape from this thwarting scenario. "We will continue in ten minutes time, with Harrietta Porter playing the Countess!"

The audience applauded at this announcement.

"Until then," Remus added, "we would like to present the ballet from Act Three."

Dumbledore's beard twitched as he looked at his managers as if they were mad men.

"The ballet! Move it forward!" Sirius hissed, scooting Remus off the stage.

Throwing his hands up in the air, Dumbledore flipped through his music, the musicians followed his lead.

McGonagall pulled Harry off stage towards Pansy's dressing room. The traumatized woman was no where in sight. Throwing open her bureau, McGonagall found a spare dress, the first costume for the countess made for Pansy that she had snubbed. Leaving Harry to dress alone while she went in search of another powdered wig, Harry touched the ring again. He couldn't help but feel that something terrible was going to happen.

Dressing as quickly as possible, Harry thought for only a moment why Pansy had refused the outfit. It was a beautifully made white silk gown, even though it was a style that was a hundred years out of date.

He opened the door, hoping to spot Hermione so she could help button him up, but he heard a terrible scream instead. He raced out towards the stage, stopping short when he saw a body dangling from the catwalk above the horrified dancers. A shadowy figure disappeared out of sight among the curtains, and Harry felt his breath catch in his throat.

The audience members were starting to get out of their seats, and the managers were trying to shout above the uproar, "It's an accident! A horrible accident."

Harry knew better. He turned to run, only to slam into Draco. "What's going on?" he asked, furious.

Not stopping to explain, Harry grabbed Malfoy's hand and pulled him towards the spiral stairs.

"Why have you brought me here?"

"_We can't go back there_," Harry seemed to gasp as they raced up the stairs.

"We must return," Draco tried to urge, but Harry's desperation seemed to make his hold on Draco's hand strong.

"_He'll kill you!" _Harry said, and Draco felt that Harry knew something he did not. _"His eyes will find us there!"_

"Harry, don't say that," Draco replied, looking behind them as if to see if someone really was watching them.

_"Those eyes that burn."_

Draco could sense the fear in Harry's voice, and wondered what could shake him so. "Don't even think it. It was just an accident."

Harry ignored him, knowing full well that tonight was just the beginning of Severus' wrath. _"If he has to kill a thousand men, the Phantom of the Opera will kill, and kill again." _

"Harry, this man is no phantom. He probably doesn't exist!"

_"My God, who is this man, who hunts to kill?"_

Draco looked puzzled as he was led down a corridor and up another flight of stairs. "Why are you singing?"

_"I can't escape from him. I never will."_

"Why won't you listen to me?"

_"And in this labyrinth where night is blind, the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind!"_

Harry threw open a door at the top of the stairs, and the winter air suddenly bit at their skin. The snow crunched beneath Draco's boots as he stepped out onto the flat rooftop, Harry shutting the door behind them.

Draco turned towards Harry, whose cheeks were red, but he wasn't sure from what exactly. "There is no Phantom of the Opera," he said sternly.

Harry looked like he was trying to plead with him. _"Draco, I've been there. To his world of unending night. To a world where the daylight dissolves into darkness. Darkness…"_ Harry seemed to breathe the last word, his eyes filled with what Draco could only describe as fear. Harry stepped past Draco, looking out over the rooftop at the night sky. _"Draco, I've seen him. Can I ever forget that sight? Can I ever forget such a face so distorted? Deformed? It was hardly a face in that darkness. Darkness…"_

Draco was at a loss for words. He suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of concern and fear for the young man in front of him. Draco wanted to help Harry, but he didn't know how. He just knew that he didn't want to see him like this.

_"But his voice filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound. In that night there was music in my mind. And through music my soul began to soar. And I've heard as I never heard before."_

_"What you heard was a dream and nothing more,"_ Draco found himself replying, not concerned that he had answered in song. He wanted to do what he could to console him. He took a step forward, but Harry turned back away from him.

_"Yet in his eyes, all the sadness of the world. Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore."_ Harry wrapped his arms around his shoulders, suddenly feeling very cold and vulnerable. His emotions were tearing him in two. He had seen both sides of Severus: the passionate man who confessed his love, and the cold hearted killer who acted out of selfishness.

_"Harry… Harry…"_

Harry gasped at the sound of Severus' voice, confused if he was there watching them, or if it was simply in his head. He could feel something icy run down his cheek, and closed his eyes to prevent any more tears from falling.

Draco couldn't stand to see Harry like this anymore. He wanted to see the bold, passionate Harry he had been watching the last several days. The Harry that stood up to him and put him in his place where nobody else had even tried. He wanted to ease his suffering, whatever it was from. He stepped over to him, gently taking hold of his hand. Harry jumped slightly at the sudden touch, but his eyes became locked with Draco's. They were so different than Severus', an amazing light blue, but they were filled with the same sincerity as the dark man's eyes when he confessed his love to Harry.

_"No more talk of darkness, forget these wide eyed fears."_ Draco pulled Harry away from the edge of the rooftop, holding both of his hands gently. _"I'm here. Nothing can harm you. My words will warm and calm you. Let me be your freedom. Let daylight dry your tears. I'm here; with you, beside you. To guard you and to guide you."_ Draco couldn't resist touching Harry's flushed cheeks. He wiped away the tear that clung to his skin, smiling down at him to help comfort him.

Harry was overwhelmed by the Draco's sudden change. Could it be? After all these years of hating each other? _"Say you love me every waking moment. Turn my head with talk of summertime. Say you need me with you now and always. Promise me that all you say is true. That's all I ask of you."_

Draco wrapped Harry into his arms, hugging him warmly. He didn't care what the others would say if they knew what was happening. All he cared about was how he felt now with Harry near him. _"Let me be your shelter. Let me be your light. You're safe. No one will find you. Your fears are far behind you."_

_"All I want is freedom. A world with no more night." _Harry looked up into his blue eyes again, knowing that he could trust himself with Draco more than he could with Severus. _"And you always beside me, to guard and to guide me."_

_"Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Let me lead you from your solitude. Say you need me with you, here beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too. Harry, that's all I ask of you."_

Unknown to the pair, Severus was on the rooftop, watching them from behind one of the decorative statues. He watched the scene unfolding before him, a terrible pain taking over his heart. He could feel his breathing become ragged with rage as Draco leaned down slightly and caught Harry's lips in a soft, yet passionate kiss. He couldn't tear his eyes away from them, his jealousy growing by the minute, even after they ran off together back down the stairs.

When the door latched behind them, Severus stepped out from his hiding place, covering over there snowy footprints. He walked over to where they had been only a moment before, sharing a kiss that should have been his. Something glistened on the powder covered ground, and he knelt down to pick it up. He felt as if he had just swallowed one of Pansy's regurgitated toads.

He clenched Harry's fallen ring, the one Severus had given him. _"I gave you my music. Made your song take wing. And now, how you repay me: denied me and betrayed me."_ He opened his hand once more, looking down at his discarded token of affection. _"He was born to love you when he heard you sing. Harry…"_

He buried his face in his hands, unsure of what to do. The words Harry and Draco had spoke to each other echoed in his head, and Severus could feel his anger resurface. He ran over to the edge of the rooftop, shouting out as if to declare war on the Opera House and who all entered. _"You will curse the day you did not do all that the Phantom asked of you!"_


	6. Chapter 6

_**I'll Drink Your Deadly Poison **_

_**Chapter 6**_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or Phantom of the Opera. If I did, you would know my name and I wouldn't be in debt. I write for enjoyment and to see what kind of reaction I get from readers: so I LOVE reviews._

* * *

Six months. Looking back, it seemed like only yesterday. But it certainly didn't feel so to most of the tenants of the Opera House. It had been six months since that dreadful night. Miss Parkinson had stopped vomiting slimy frogs by the next morning, but she hadn't dared open her mouth for nearly a month afterwards. Of course, most everybody had been grateful for that. But they had all been horrified by the untimely death of Shunpike. The ballerinas still looked up every now and then during rehearsal, as if fearing to find his body still hanging from the scaffoldings. The newspapers were finally silenced about his death, Black and Lupin wanting to ensure that this "accident" wouldn't scare away their patrons.

Harry knew it was anything but an accident. So did several others in the castle, but nobody dared bring it up, for fear they would be next. But in the past six months, there had been no sign of the Phantom. No notes. No demands for salary. No whispers in the air.

Nothing.

That was also what had happened between Harry and Draco since that fateful night. Nothing. Harry had not heard any word uttered from the lips of the man who had so openly vowed to be with him. Of course, Draco was still around, watching him like a hawk during performances, sitting in Box 4 as if he was challenging the presence of the ghost.

Harry rubbed at his temples, terribly confused. Perhaps this female façade of his was messing with him. Why should he care about what another man does or doesn't do? He should be trying to woo the girls, or looking to marry a woman. Of course, what woman in her right mind would be with a man who was a female impersonator? Most of the girls in the troupe avoided him now, whispering and giggling at him when they thought he was out of earshot. Only Hermione and Luna acted normally around him, although he wondered if Luna believed he really was a girl, since she took joy in styling his wigs.

And Hermione had already given her heart to Ron. It wouldn't be long before they were married, and Harry would be all alone, despite they're insisting that he was their friend no matter what.

His dreams had also stopped, and he no longer heard the whispers from Severus. He had noticed the next morning that the ring was gone, and he had searched fervently for it with no luck finding it. And now that Pansy's dressing room was his, Harry had tried to get behind the mirror, but it would not budge, nor did Severus appear to him as he had before.

Harry turned when he heard footsteps coming down the stone steps. Hermione appeared, dressed in a beautiful white ball gown, adorned with gossamer wings and a little golden circlet around her head. Her face had been painted with glitter and around her eyes was a silk white mask, accenting her beautiful brown eyes. Behind her was Ron, dressed in the exact opposite of Hermione: red suit, his fiery hair spiked all around, and carrying a black face mask with horns on the side.

Harry chuckled. "Don't you two match perfectly," he mocked.

Ron smirked. "Opposites attract, so they say."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, what are you doing down here? You're going to miss the party."

"And you're going to get your dress all dirty," Ron chimed.

Harry stood up, turning away from the communion table and his family's candle. "I wasn't sure when I would make it down tonight."

"You're the only one who comes here every day," Ron said, leaning against the wall.

"I can't help it if I miss my parents. With all that's happened to me, at least honoring they're memory hasn't changed."

Hermione's head sharply turned as music drifted down the stairs. "Oh, no! We're late!"

* * *

Being New Year's Eve, the managers decided to throw a masquerade ball for all their patrons and the leading actors to celebrate their success. Since it had been a quiet six months, meaning no mishaps or 'ghosts' demanding payment, they also decided to install a new, grand chandelier for the castle, hanging above the theatre seats. It was a beautiful thing, and it was enormous as well. Many precautions had been taken to secure it to the ceiling.

Black was grinning from ear to ear beneath his feathered mask as he looked away from the golden chandelier. What a wonderful six months! Their investment had more than doubled their profits. There was peace again among the inhabitants of the castle. And he had a voluptuous dancer hanging on his arm, wearing a gown that he prayed would be easy to take off later in the evening. Of course, he did love a challenge!

"Black?"

He turned and looked into the eyes of a man behind a furry mask, his arm also decorated with a lovely young woman. "Lupin?"

They both moved their masks, laughing.

"_Dear Remus, what a charming gala!"_

"_The prelude to a bright, new year!"_ They turned towards the grand doors that led to the master staircase in the great hall. _"Quite a night! I'm impressed."_

Sirius smiled, winking at his beautiful companion. _"Well, one does his best."_

Remus plucked a wine glass from a waiter's tray, lifting it high into the air. _"Here's to us!"_

Sirius laughed, joining in the toast. _"The toast of all the city! What a pity that the 'Phantom' can't be here!"_

They laughed heartily amongst themselves, although the girls seemed a little nervous at the mention of the Phantom. Although it had been half a year since there'd been a sign of him, they still didn't want to jinx such a wonderful evening.

The Grand Hall was filled with masked people in extravagant costumes. It was nearly impossible to differentiate between the rich patrons and the actors and dancers. Of course, this made it easier for the rich to self indulge in their hidden fantasies without anyone noticing. Imagine the gossip if someone recognized a baron flirting with an actor! Or a pompous patron's wife kissing the neck of a ballerina in a dark corner!

The musicians were easy enough to recognize, however. They were all in masque attire, but they were gathered in the balcony, instruments in hand. The managers thought it would be marvelous to have an interactive play, so to say. The dancers and choir members had been training for weeks to prepare, and now they were starting to take their places on the stair case as the musicians played the cue.

"_Masquerade! Paper faces on parade . . . Masquerade! Hide your face, so the world will never find you! Masquerade! Every face a different shade . . . Masquerade! Look around - there's another mask behind you!"_

As the mini opera continued on, Harry realized that Ron and Hermione had joined in on the festive dancing, along with some of the other patrons. He looked around him, finding an unoccupied corner to hide in. Even though he had been performing his own masquerade for the past six months, he still felt uncomfortable around large groups for fear of being discovered.

He continued to watch the dancing from his lonely corner, smiling to himself that he hadn't been cast to join. He couldn't help but sing along, though, since it had been rehearsed every night so that it was stuck in his head.

"_Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds . . . Masquerade! Take your fill - let the spectacle astound you! Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads . . . Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you! Masquerade! Seething shadows breathing lies . . . Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you! Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes . . . Masquerade! Run and hide - but a face will still pursue you!"_

"Isn't that the truth?"

Harry turned sharply at the sound of the mumble behind the column next to him. He felt the breath catch in his throat as he instantly recognized the man standing there, since he was wearing no mask.

"Malfoy."

Draco looked up, realizing he wasn't alone and his cheeks turning a bright red. "What are you doing here?"

Harry frowned. "The same as you, I should say. Hiding from the masses."

"No, I'm just hiding from you."

A moment of awkward silence followed, although it was only between them, since the walls were echoing with music and laughter. Harry took this time to study Draco. He was dressed rather dashingly, wearing a white suit with golden trim, his mask hanging from the glittering belt around his waist. Either it was uncomfortable or he just didn't care if he was recognized.

"Well, I guess I can understand why you are hiding from me," Harry finally spoke, his tone a bit contemptuous. "All these years you've seemed to hate me, only to swear your love to me, and then not speak to me. I would be embarrassed too to admit I was wrong."

Draco glared at Harry. "I didn't do anything wrong. You've bewitched me somehow."

"Me?" Harry laughed. "I haven't done anything to you."

Draco shook his head, stepping closer. His voice was lower, and it sent chills up Harry's spine, although he wasn't quite sure why. "You have done more than you think. I am no longer my father's puppet because of you, and it's cost me dearly."

Harry could only reply with a questioning glance as Draco stepped closer, almost pinning Harry against the column.

"My father wanted me to enter an arranged marriage, but I didn't. I couldn't. Part of me did it to defy him, and another part…" He found himself tracing a finger along Harry's jaw line, bringing a nervous shiver to the cross-dressed man. "Well, I still haven't figured out the other reason. All I know is that you haunt my every waking moment, and even in my dreams I can't escape you."

Harry felt the cool marble against his shoulders as he took a step back from Draco's touch. He could feel his heart begin to race, unsure of what to do or say.

Draco moved closer still, leaning in to whisper in Harry's ear. "You're like a deadly poison that I can't resist."

Suddenly, the music stopped, and the air was filled with gasps as most of the lights were extinguished. Draco took a step back, looking behind the column into the hallway. Harry took this moment to hurry away, finding Hermione and Ron only a few paces away. "What's happening?" he whispered, but a puff of smoke at the top of the stairs answered him.

From out of the smoke stepped a figure, dressed in blood red robes and wearing a skeleton mask that hid his entire face. Only his eyes could be seen, and Harry gasped as he recognized that piercing gaze.

"_Why so silent good monsieurs? did you think that I had left you for good?  
Have you missed me, good monsieurs, I have written you an opera! Here I bring the finished score, Don Juan Triumphant!..."_ From beneath his cloak, the Phantom pulled out a script, throwing it at the feet of Black and Lupin. They jumped back as if it would bite them. The Phantom slowly walked down the stairs, unsheathing a sword from beneath his robes, and those in his way quickly moved.

"_Fondest greetings to you all, a few instructions just before rehearsal starts, Miss Pansy must be taught to act, not her normal trick of strutting around the stage."_ He took his sword and stuck it into Pansy's head dress, throwing it across the room. Her mouth hung open as if in a scream, but too afraid to make a sound. He continued on, lightly poking Pettigrew with the tip of his sword. "_Our Don Juan must lose some weight,  
it's not healthy in a man of Peter's age." _He turned sharply on his heels, staring down Black and Lupin, raising his sword in a threatening manner. "_And my managers must learn, that their place is in an office, not the arts." _

And then he turned around, his dark eyes piercing into Harry's very soul, it seemed. "_As for our star, my Harry Potter..."_

The crowd looked around, slightly confused. 'Didn't he mean Harrietta Porter?' they were thinking to themselves, but still no one dared speak aloud. They all watched as the Phantom approached Harry, and he knew that it tonight was the end of his façade.

"_No doubt he'll do his best it's true, his voice is good, he knows, though should he wish to excel, he has much still to learn, if pride will let him return to me, his teacher, his teacher..."_

Severus held out his hand, and Harry suddenly felt like his body wasn't his anymore. He found himself stepping closer, his own hand reaching out. Severus gently took his hand, but then suddenly, he forced the same ring Harry had lost onto his finger, and pulled him close, his voice angry. "Your chains are still mine! You belong to me!"

Gasps filled the air once more as a blast of smoke appeared in front of Harry, and the Phantom was gone. People started screaming and running for the doors. Thinking quickly, Black raced up the stairs and called out, "Did you enjoy our preview of our upcoming opera?"

* * *

The rest of the evening was spent trying to convince the press that the entire event was planned, a grand theme to capture the audience into buying tickets to the newest opera. And of course, they wanted to interview Harry to discover if he was really a he, or a she. But he had successfully eluded them for now.

If only he could get away from Fred and George's incessant singing.

"_Masturbate! Put your penis on display! Masturbate! Show yourself and someone will surely help you! Masturbate! Everyone will 'cum' to watch! Masturbate!"_

"How DARE you sing such lucrative things out loud!" Mrs. Weasley eventually put a stop to their daring song, but Harry knew it wouldn't be permanent.

It was early in the morning when Harry safely made it back to his dressing room without anybody trying to question him of the night's events. He sat down in the plush chair, not even bothering to take off his wig. He strangely had grown accustomed to the long hair, and he didn't want to raise any more suspicions at the moment by dressing like a man again.

Looking down at his hand, he moved his finger to see the golden ring glisten in the light. Why had the Phantom returned it to him? Hadn't he shown carelessness by losing it? Perhaps he was giving him a second chance. He stood up, approaching the mirror that led to Severus' domain. He leaned forward, his forehead touching the cool glass. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Why the hell are you apologizing to that lunatic?"

Harry jumped at Draco's voice whispering in his ear. He hadn't heard him come in. "Why are you sneaking up on me?"

Draco grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the mirror. "Your 'phantom' is just a madman! Why do you care about him?" He tried to pull the ring off Harry's finger, but it wouldn't budge.

Harry reclaimed his hand, rubbing at the ring. "I can't explain it." He looked back at the mirror, wondering how close Severus was at this moment. "He seems to understand my loneliness, and I him."

Draco suddenly wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders, hugging him from behind. "You are not alone."

Harry found it hard to speak. "I don't understand you." He tried to break free, but couldn't resist the warm grasp.

"I didn't understand myself, until tonight. I thought this was just some strange infatuation. But when I saw you with him, how he looked at you, and how you looked at him, I realized I might lose you." His breathing became erratic as he placed a gentle kiss on Harry's neck. "You have freed me from my lonely life. Let me free you."

Harry's voice was just a whisper now. "From what?"

"From your loneliness. From this spell he seems to have over you._ Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime . . Let me lead you from your solitude . . .Say you need me with you here, beside you . . . anywhere you go, let me go too - Harry, that's all I ask of you . . ."_

* * *

Sirius and Remus were sitting at their desk, taking turns reading through the Phantom's opera. They sat in silence for a while when they were finished, as if each were trying to sort through their thoughts before speaking them.

"It's different."

Remus laughed nervously. "Different? That's too kind. The audience will leave within the first act! It's appalling!"

Sirius picked up the script, fanning through the pages. "I found it intriguing."

"Well of course you would! I admit, it's well written. But in polite society, we'll be shamed! It's provocative! It's sinful!"

"And if we don't put it on, we'll be doomed." Sirius dropped the book back on the desk, leaning back in his seat and sighing. "We're damned either way."

The door to the office was suddenly flown open, and Draco entered the room. "I'm taking Potter away from this dreadful place."

The managers jumped from their chairs. "You can't!" Sirius shouted, while Remus went to shut the door. "The Phantom has demanded that she be the lead."

"_He_, Harry, will not be a pawn in this deceptive man's game anymore," Draco roared, "and you shouldn't be either. He's just a man!"

"A man, you say? Then how is it we can not catch this man? He disappears into thin air, steals money without leaving a trace, taunts us from it seems inside the walls."

They were silent again, deep in thought. Apparently this 'Phantom' knew more about the castle then anyone else to get around, so catching him would be nigh impossible. If only they could lure him out into familiar territory.

"That's it!" Draco shouted, startling the older men. "_We have all been blind. And yet the answer is staring us all in the face! This could be the chance to ensnare our clever friend."_

"_Go on!"_

"_We're listening…"_

Draco beckoned them closer, speaking low in case the walls were listening in on them. "_We shall play his game. Perform his work, but remember, we hold the ace. For if Harry sings, he is certain to attend."_

"_We are certain the doors are barred."_

"_We are certain the police are there."_

"_We are certain they're armed."_

The three men smiled wickedly at their clever plan. "_The curtain falls. His reign will end!"_

(AN: Thanks to my friend Cindy for her twist on the song 'Masquerade'! She saw the movie, and was singing her version for a while!)

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

_**I'll Drink Your Deadly Poison **_

_**Chapter 7**_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or Phantom of the Opera. If I did, you would know my name and I wouldn't be in debt. I write for enjoyment and to see what kind of reaction I get from readers: so I LOVE reviews._

* * *

The entire theatre company had been in an uproar ever since the Phantom had presented the managers with his new opera. The seamstresses' fingers were sore from sewing costumes in great haste. The dancers' toes were bandaged from all the new blisters they received after relentless hours of practice. The orchestra was tired; the wind players' lips numb and the violinists were rubbing their achy shoulders. McGonagall's walking staff had nearly splintered from her beating it on the ground like a metronome.

There were hundreds more who were exhausted, all in their own ways, but no one dared complain to the managers about it. They had not been told of the plan to capture the Phantom during the show, but they were very aware that the terrible being would be watching his written work brought to life. They had witnessed his anger before, and they did not want to stir it up by slacking off or refusing to perform.

But none were as weary as Harry. It was the emotional turmoil that was exhausting the young cross dresser. The media was still inquiring about his true gender, and so he had been restricted to his room, dressing room, and practice. His meals were brought to him by Hermione and Ron, and the occasional visit from Luna. They all tried to entertain him, but it only put a small dent in his loneliness.

Harry found himself sneaking down to the little chapel room more than once every day, but not to light a candle for his parents. He felt like he could escape there, praying fervently for some kind of rescue. Draco had decided not to run, saying that the Phantom would always pursue them unless they put a stop to him. And Harry so wanted to be free from the dreams that haunted him every night, the voices that always lingered in his ear although no one was around.

Ron, trying to lighten their moods, would jest that Harry only went to pray so he could drink the communion wine. Of course Hermione retaliated, sourly stating that drunkenness would not solve their problems. And Fred and George would tease that they had far better a stash hidden away than the weak wine in the chapel.

Yet no matter how much Harry prayed for some piece of mind, it seemed the further away he was from it. He insisted on not knowing what plans were made to catch Severus, hoping that the less he knew, the less his fear. And the voice that always whispered to him in his dreams could not be answered if he was ignorant of all schemes.

It seemed like all too soon, yet it felt like an eternity, that opening night was upon them. The audience was humming with gossip that could not be filtered out by the heavy curtains. Lupin and Black were sitting in their box, trying to pass off their nerves as excitement of another opening gala, which would make their pockets even heavier. The patrons seemed indifferent to the tense atmosphere. They did not notice that after they had all been seated, and the main doors shut, that several officers were lurking in the shadows, armed for whatever dangers may arise.

The house lights were dimmed, the great chandelier overhead still burning lightly, casting an eerie glow about the room on the people below. The heavy curtains were pulled back as Dumbledore's baton dropped, and the room was filled with tense music. The audience seemed startled, since the theatre had produced mostly comedies the past few years. Some were eager, though, hoping the night promised a good tragedy, and not some lovesick drama.

As the chorus came out, some of the elder women in their seats nearly swooned from shock at the offensive lyrics and provocative dancing that centered around a giant faux bonfire. The two managers could see below them that already their patrons were starting to whisper. But with each passing minute, they worried less of the crowd's opinion, and more on when the Phantom would make his appearance.

From behind the side curtains, Harry waited for his cue, looking out into the audience. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Draco looking back at him. He could just make out an officer hiding in the shadows behind him, his rifle resting against his shoulder.

Were they going to kill Severus, here, in front of all these people?

Before he could think any further on it, the music altered, reminding him it was time to start his role in the dangerous play.

"_No thoughts within her head, but thoughts of joy. No dreams within her heart, but dreams of love."_

Oh, if only it could be that simple.

Harry knelt down on the stage, setting down the basket of roses he was carrying. He tried to control his nerves while picking at the thorns, waiting for Peter to return as was in the script.

But the voice that rang out in the auditorium was not Peter's.

If the audience realized this, they did not show any reaction. It was almost as if they were instantly hypnotized by the seductive tone that tickled their ears. Nor did they seem to notice that the masked leading man had suddenly grown over a foot taller, and was much slimmer. No whispers, no curious glances. It was like a spell had been cast.

"_You have come here, in pursuit of that deepest urge. In pursuit of that wish, which till now, has been silent. Silent…"_

At the familiar sound of Severus' voice, Harry had set down the rose and slowly turned. That familiar feeling that tingled down his spine whenever he was in the Phantom's presence was returning. He wasn't sure if he should surrender to it, or fight it.

"_I have brought you that our passions may fuse and merge. In your mind you've already succumbed to me; dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me. Now you are here with me. No second thoughts. You've decided… Decided…"_

Harry rose then, gazing into Severus' cold eyes, which seemed to burn him with a heat he'd never felt before. His eyes never broke away as the Phantom approached him, circling him like he was a cat ready to devour a delicious mouse.

"_Past the point of no return. No backward glances. Our games of make believe are at an end. Past all thought of 'if' or 'when,' no use resisting. Abandon thought and let the dream descend."_

Before he could react, the Phantom pounced, grasping Harry and singing in his ear in that raspy, seductive tone. Harry found it harder to fight the burning in him that was threatening to take over his mind and body. Severus' hands were making his skin tingle as he brushed them against his throat, across his shoulders, and down his arm to hold his hand.

"_What raging fire shall flood the soul! What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us? Past the point of no return. The final threshold. What warm unspoken secrets will we learn? Beyond the point of no return…"_

When Severus released his hand, Harry suddenly had a clear mind again. He took a few steps back, confused as to what would happen next. Was he supposed to go on? Severus was here, the bait had worked. Why wasn't the militia taking action? Were they waiting for an opportune moment? Or like the audience, were they drawn in by Severus' voice and had forgotten what action to take?

But did he want to see Severus killed? For surely that was the plan. Why else would they have come armed? A quick glance confirmed his suspicions that the entire room and backstage contained hiding soldiers.

The ring on his finger suddenly felt warmer against his skin.

* * *

Draco watched anxiously from Box 4. He thought perhaps the Phantom would show himself in "his" box, so he had brought a guard with him, and waited. But what happened was not what he had expected. At first he was curious as to what happened to Pettigrew, but when the masked man started singing, and by the reaction on Harry's face, Draco knew that the Phantom was brazen indeed.

He felt rage building up inside him as this "ghost" touched Harry. He looked across the way, and saw Black and Lupin looking utterly chaotic. He motioned for them to stay still and for their guards to stand down. He didn't trust anyone to take aim at this devil when he was far too close to Harry.

So instead he had to suffer, watching the Phantom seduce Harry in front of everyone. And it grew worse as Harry continued on, only after stealing a glance up at Draco, which did not go unnoticed by those masked eyes.

"_I have come here to that moment when words run dry. To that moment when speech disappears into silence. Silence… I have come here hardly knowing the reason why. In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent. Now I am here with you. No second thoughts. I've decided. Decided…"_

As Harry turned away, Draco felt a tug on his heart. Was this just part of the story, or was Harry really going to give in to this maniac? He could not turn his gaze away from Harry, even when the other dancers came on stage, dancing lewdly with each other in the background as Harry continued singing.

"_Past the point of no return, no going back now. Our passion play has now at last begun. Past all thought of right or wrong. One final question. How long should we two wait before we're one? When will the blood begin to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us?"_

As they climbed higher up the spiral staircase and approached each other on the bridge above the fire pit, Draco felt himself standing up. He wasn't sure if it was to see them better, or if he was going to jump and run to Harry's rescue. He did know he did not like how this was going. The fire in the Phantom's eyes was burning bright, and Harry's body language gave Draco no comfort.

"_Past the point of no return. The final threshold. The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn. We've passed the point of no return."_

As Harry surrendered to the Phantom's embrace, Draco felt a tear fall down his own cheek. His chest felt tight, and he didn't know whether to scream out for them to stop, to signal the guards, or to continue standing there in agony as that man touched Harry in front of all the awestruck eyes in the room.

* * *

Harry felt completely lost in Severus' touch, but it was nothing like he'd known before. That fire in him seemed to rage, and the only thing that tamed it was his cool touch. Never mind that the audience was spellbound by such a display of lust that hadn't been seen in polite society before. Or that his friends below were looking franticly at him from down below, hidden off stage. The only thing that seemed to matter at that moment was the sweet voice singing softly in his ear at that moment.

"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me, save me from my solitude. Say you'll want me with you, here, beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too."_

Hearing his words, Harry was drawn from his lustful haze and opened his eyes, turning in the Phantom's embrace to look into his masked eyes. He reached out to cup his cheek in his hand, and Severus leaned in to the touch.

"_Harry, that's all I ask of you…"_

In that last word, Harry pulled at his mask, revealing his marred face to the audience. Whatever had rendered them silent for the performance was gone now, and there were shrieks and screams from all corners of the room.

Despite it all, Harry and Severus continued to look at one another. Severus' expression turned from a look of pleading and love, to disappointment and irritation. He broke his gaze to look up at the roof, and then down at the screaming audience. The soldiers were now coming out of hiding, and were fast approaching the two on the bridge.

Harry gasped when Severus grabbed him around the waist, pulling him close. As he did this, he pulled a knife out from under his coat, slicing through a red rope. Before Harry could see what it led to, Severus kicked at a latch that released the floor from beneath them, sending them falling towards the stage. There were gasps all around as they disappeared through the faux fire pit below, which hid a trap door leading to only God knew where.

* * *

Ron and Hermione raced on stage, stopping at the edge of the fire ring, its paper flames still dancing in the chaos on stage. The trap door had closed too quickly to see where it led. Before they could make any question about where Harry had gone, a grinding noise from overhead drew everyone's attention.

The new chandelier was rocking, and the ceiling around it was starting to crack. The audience started to scream more frantically as the giant structure suddenly dropped about twenty feet, and then raced towards the stage like a giant pendulum, painted angels and tiles falling down with it towards the innocents below.

Dumbledore and the musicians abandoned their instruments, climbing over the pit to escape the impending crash. Women tripped over their high shoes and long skirts, calling for help that seemed to land on deaf ears.

The shatter of the glass on stage was a deadly sound, sending pieces everywhere. But that was not the end of it. The oil from the lamps on the stage and the chandelier were set ablaze in the crash, and splashed on to the curtains. Within a minute the stage was a total loss, and the fire was racing down the aisles after any patrons still scrambling out.

"We're ruined, Remus! Ruined!"

Sirius was frantic as Remus tried to pull him to safety. He was right, of course. The evening had gone nothing like they had planned. Apparently the Opera Ghost was much too keen, and had planned an escape, making sure that they were punished for not listening to him. "He's kidnapped Potter," Remus stated, as he led Sirius outside towards fresh air.

"To hell with Potter! If it wasn't for their cursed infatuation, none of this would ever have happened!"

* * *

Draco was still inside the opera house, but fighting the horde of frightened people to gain access to the backstage. Smoke started billowing into the halls, so he unbuttoned his waist coat and lifted it to screen his mouth and nose. His eyes burned, but it was nothing to the hatred that was consuming him. He would find that damnable man and make a real ghost out of him.

"Count! Count Malfoy! Stop!"

He reluctantly turned to look back over his shoulder. Madame McGonagall, followed by Hermione and Ron, were close on his heels.

"Please, sir, wait! It's no use at this moment! The fire has blocked us off!"

Draco stopped as McGonagall grabbed him by the arm. "Please, trust me. Have patience. He will not harm Harry."

Draco glared at her, yanking his arm out of her grasp. "How can you be so sure? Look what he's done already!"

McGonagall made a grab at his arm again as he tried to continue on. "Sir, I beg you. You will die if you go after him right now. I can help you, if you will but have some patience."

"How can you help me?" he spat angrily. "What do you know about this proclaimed Phantom that could possibly help me?"

Her face suddenly looked regretful. "Because I brought him here. He's my nephew."


End file.
